Andrew Kentley Jlst tot me dl and b buriad here" &c. Page 87 ANDREW BENTLEY OR How HE RETRIEVED His HONOR ILLUSTRATED A STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR Founded on Facts BY WALTER SCOTT BROWNE Published by A. C. Graw, Camden, N. J. Copyright, 1900, By Walter Scott 'Browne. All rights reserved. Ifr5 To the many dear friends who so kindly gave me aid, com- fort and good cheer, during the long, long months of a painful affliction of the body, at which time this story was carefully written, this Volume Is respectfully dedicated by the author. ; Vineland, N. J., January 31, 1900. CONTENTS. Page. Chapter i. Off for the War I? Chapter 2. An Unsatisfactory Interview 28 Chapter 3. Wounded 46 Chapter 4. Drafted 62 Chapter 5. The Lonely Picket 76 Chapter 6. On to Gettysburg Cowardice 91 Chapter 7. In search of Apple-jack 112 Chapter 8. Trapped 124 Chapter 9. The Escape 134 Chapter 10. A Night in the Woods 152 Chapter 1 1. Kindness of the Slave 174 Chapter 12. Return to the Union Lines 191 Chapter 13. Battle of the WildernessDesertion 197 Chapter 14. An Arrest Frustrated 220 Chapter 15. An Interview with President Lincoln .... 235 Chapter 16. Again a Soldier Villainy of Williams ... 252 Chapter 17. Bentley Carries a Message 265 Chapter 18. Wounded Marriage Death 296 PREFACE. No event that occurred during the years of the now expiring century was fraught with so much earnest, anxious solicitude as the dark days of that period known as the Civil War. It is best remembered by those who passed through it. Not alone by those who stood upon the field of carnage, but also by the many who watched and waited and prayed, in the homes found in every town and hamlet throughout the land. The never ceasing onward march of time has retired to the great army of the dead, many thous- ands of those who survived the clang and clash of war. But, " when shall their glory fade ?" In their day and generation they served their country, and it is for them we gather the fragrant blossoms of spring-time, but none of richer or sweeter perfume than the memories they have left in the hearts of a grateful people. The scythe of time has also been at work among 14 PREFACE. those who were non-combatants, and the flight of almost half a century has left upon the stage of ac- tion but a very few of those who figured as charac- ters in this story. While we have at times indulged in fancy's vis- ion, and occasionally been obliged to draw upon our imagination, our story is founded upon facts as they occurred. Our purpose in writing this book has been two- fold : To endeavor to earn our daily bread under adverse circumstances ; second, to possess in print, a record of the doings of the friends of other days. We have tried to give a clear recital of events in a plain, simple way, and trust that a perusal of these pages will help keep in mind that momentous period of our national existence, now fast passing out of the memory of the present generation. THE AUTHOR. ANDREW BENTLEY, --OR-- How HE RETRIEVED His HONOR, CHAPTER I. OFF FOR THE WAR. HE excitement which swept over the North occasioned by the attack upon Fort Sumpter had barely subsided, when news came of the terrible dis- aster to the Union army at Bull Run, causing the land to be shrouded in gloom and sorrow. President Lincoln had issued his call for 'Three Hundred Thousand" men, and every- where patriotic hearts were responding. The call had been heard by the inhabitants of the staid little village of N , nestled among the hills of Western Pennsylvania, whose popu- lation consisted of barely one hundred souls all 2 1 8 ANDREW BENTLEY. told, and who had never known a much greater event than the coming of the tri-weekly mail, usu- ally carried by a boy on horse back. Occasionally the interest would be aroused by a "Punch and Judy" show which never failed to draw plenty of patrons from the village and sur- rounding neighborhood. This was about all that broke in upon the serenity of their every day life. But now the village was astir, and the absorb- ing topic of conversation rested on four young men of the place, who, having heard the strains of martial music issuing from a band at a recruiting office in an adjoining town, and filled with pa- triotism and love of country, Alpheus Forrest, George Coulter, Phineas Gray and Andrew Bent- ley, had enlisted for the war. All four of them favorites to a greater or less extent, and young men of high respectability. They had enrolled their names in Company A of the Sixty Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, and were now sporting the royal blue of a Union Soldier, the first, no doubt, that many of the in- habitants had ever looked upon. The older citi- zens recalled the days of the "Mexican War," while a few of the grandfathers went farther back and talked of the war of 1812, but all narrowed OFF FOR THE WAR. 19 down to the enlistment of these young men and their probable fate. Every attention was bestowed upon them by the admiring swain of the village and neighbor- hood. Evening parties and suppers were gotten up for their especial benefit. But the day of their departure was drawing near, for their company had been ordered to report to its regiment then stationed at Pittsburg, which was under marching orders to proceed to the front. Affecting were the farewell scenes in the homes of at least three of our soldier boys, for George Coulter was an orphan, having lost both parents at an early age, he had been adopted and brought up by a kind neighbor for whom he had labored faithfully until within a few years of the opening of our story. Farmer Forrest and his wife bade their son, Alpheus, an affectionate good-bye, with a "God bless you," while tears fell thick and fast upon their withered cheeks. The patriotic father of Phineas Gray gave his boy his blessing, and bade him to be true to the old flag. He declared "it was too bad he could not go himself." But having served a term of enlist- ment on the frontier, and being more or less crip- 2O ANDREW BENTLEY. pled with rheumatism, he was obliged to wait at home for the news of the daring deeds, that would surely be performed by his Phineas. It was in the Bentley homestead that the parting was most sad. The aged father tried with heroic fortitude to bear up and not show any signs of breaking down, for the fond mother had given away entirely, and clung with sobs to the bosom of her son. She had years before lost her eldest son, George, by a fatal accident in a mill, and her youngest son being absent from home, the going of this, her second boy, who had never been away above a fortnight at a time, seemed to crush her heart strings. She had placed within the pocket of his blouse his little Testament and now begged of him to read a portion of it, if possible, every day and put his trust in the God that had sustained her these many years. With a tender embrace and parting kiss from his mother, followed by a warm clasp of the hand of his aged father, Andrew tore himself away, and with a throbbing heart hastened down the shady walk to the front gate where he turned and took a last lingering look upon the home that had shel- tered him for years, and which might never shelter him again. Then with a resolute look upon his face OFF FOR THE WAR. 21 he quickly crossed the road and took the path through the orchard which led in the direction of Judge Preston's residence, for Andrew had another duty before him. For years he had cherished a tender feeling for Annie Preston, the beautiful dark haired daughter of the Judge, and he had reason to believe his pas- sion was returned, although nothing had ever passed between them on the subject. But in their earlier life they seemed to choose the companion- ship of each other, and in school, many a bright yellow pippin or rosy cheeked Baldwin apple found its way from Andrew's pocket into Annie's desk. And had he not always found time to work the most intricate problems in arithmetic for her? Annie had a host of friends among the boys and girls in school, and especially was she admired by one Henry Williams, a large stout boy about ready to leave school, more on account of his size than advancement in his studies ; he was the eldest son of Squire Williams, who kept the only store the village could afford. Henry possessed one faculty developed above all others, and that was his ability to drive a sharp bargain. No doubt this was inherent from his father, and from his experience in the store, where 22 ANDREW BENTLEY. it was said by some that he did not always give the most exact measure. Aside from this, he was rather prepossessing in his appearance, always wore good clothes and when he would try, could make himself quite agreeable. He had aimed in his boyish way to engraft himself into the good graces of Annie Preston, but the fair Annie treated him only with the respect due a school companion. She made no show of preference for any one, unless it was for the stalwart Andrew, whose blue eyes caused her a peculiar thrill of delight when they looked so earnestly into her dark ones, as he ex- plained the intricacies of the application of cube root. It was to this fair maiden that Andrew was now hastening to say a last farewell ere he joined his comrades who were to wait for him at Squire Williams' store, for the Squire had kindly arranged to have his hired man drive them to the Com- pany's rendezvous. His rapid steps soon brought him to the walk leading up to the Preston man- sion. Annie stood at the gate waiting to greet him. She had caught a glimpse of his uniform as he emerged from the orchard and had hastened down to the gate to meet him. As he approached her, Andrew never appeared OFF FOR THE WAR. 23 to a better advantage in the eyes of Annie. His close fitting uniform showing off his tall form, he appeared so soldierly in his every movement, that her eyes beamed with the joy and pride she felt in her heart for her soldier-boy school-mate. Andrew had resolved that on this, his good- bye call, to reveal the state of his feelings, and if possible to exact a promise from the fair maiden, to hold his love in sacred trust till his return from the war when he might claim her as his loving bride. Their greeting was indicative of the regard each held for the other, and as Andrew pressed the fair hand extended to him, a conscious blush over- spread Annie's face. "Why, Andrew! You seem to be in great haste; pray what is the matter? You look as though you had some news to impart." "I have dear friend," replied Andrew. "Our company has orders to join the regiment at once, which leaves to-morrow for the seat of war. In one short hour I must meet my comrades at Wil- liams' grocery where a team awaits us to take us over to M where we join our command." "So soon?" murmured Annie. "Yes," replied Andrew, "I had rather expected 24 ANDREW BENTLEY. it before this," and placing her hand within his, he led her to a rustic seat beneath the shade of a large maple that stood near. "Annie, I have come to say good-bye, and before I go, I would like to ex- act of you a promise," and his honest blue eyes looked straight into hers, and she read in them, that which brought a responsive thrill to her own heart. "Annie," he continued, "You will not for- get me when I'm gone, will you?" And Andrew took the little hand that lay in her lap within his own, brown with exposure to the wind and sun. She did not withdraw it and he felt encouraged to proceed. "Dear girl, I need not tell you how much you are to me, and how hard it is for me to say good- bye to-day. I may never be privileged to return, but the pain of parting would be lessened, and my soldier life brightened, did I but carry with me the knowledge of your true heart-felt affection and your promise that when I return if I am per- mitted to do so I may claim you as my bride." Annie's head had drooped on his shoulder, and Andrew noticed a glistening tear-drop course its way down her blushing cheek. She raised her head and he saw her dark eyes were suffused with tears. Her voice trembled as OFF FOR THE WAR. 2 5 she made reply, "Andrew, you have asked to-day for that which has long been yours, but never did I realize until your coming just a few moments ago how much I loved you, and how noble you looked in your soldier blue, but Oh, how sad to think that you must go so soon. But Andrew, prom- ise me one thing that you will never disgrace the uniform which you now wear. You know the strong love our family all bear for the dear old flag, and when you return as one of its defenders, be you unscathed or maimed by shot or shell, I will join my lot to yours, happy in the consciousness of being a brave soldier's wife." Andrew drew her to his bosom, and printed a betrothal kiss upon her ruby lips. "God bless you, my darling, you have given me that which will enable me to endure the weary march with greater cheerfulness, and prove a companion on the lonely picket, and in the heat of conflict, I shall not forget that I am battling for home, for loved ones, and my country's honor. And now dearest," looking at his watch "my hour is most up and a soldier must be promptly on time. I must say adieu." Again they embraced and with a heavy heart she proceeded up the shady walk toward the house, while Andrew with hasty steps turned into 26 ANDREW BENTLEY. the road leading to the village. Just before he reached the bend in the road, he turned, stopped, and looked back. Annie was standing on the steps of the veranda watching him. He threw her a parting kiss, and she responded by a wave of her handkerchief, a few more steps and he was hid from her sight. She entered the house to take up the hum drum of every-day life, while Andrew hurried on to join his comrades in waiting for him at the gro- cery. The driver, under a patriotic inspiration, had bedecked his team and wagon with flags and streamers until it looked like a triumphal chariot. The entire community had turned out to bid them good-bye and wish them "God speed." A few old snare drums, together with an old bass drum, that had seen service for almost a cen- tury back, had been found with willing hands to beat them, and when old cobbler King, who had served as a fifer in the war of 1812 appeared with his old yellow fife and struck up the tune of "The girl I left behind me," the cheer that went up from those assembled, was such as had never been heard before in the staid, quiet country village. Hand clasps were given, farewells were said, and amid waving flags and handkerchiefs, loud OFF FOR THE WAR. 2? huzzas and the rattle of the drums, the quartette of young patriots were driven away, leaving behind many, whose eyes were filled with a suspicious moisture, for in small villages the people seem more closely bound together than in large cities. And thus the village of N had contributed her first invoice for the defense of the old flag. 28 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER II. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. UT little work was done the balance of the day, for the nerves of the villagers had been wrought up to such a pitch that they did not feel like toiling. They preferred to discuss the probable future of the four brave boys who had gone out from among them. "I prophesy that Andy Bentley will come home a 'Gineral' or some other big officer," said the old shoemaker, with whom Andrew had always been a favorite. "He won't prove a better fighter than my Phin- eas," said old Major Gray, who had just joined the group that had gathered in the grocery store. "My boy has pluck from away back," he continued, "and I told him not to disgrace his colors no mat- ter where he was placed." Poor fond father, he little knew how well his boy would fulfill his injunc- tion and at what a sacrifice. "I'll wager a barrel of flour on our boy, George AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 2Q Coulter, proving the best soldier of the lot," said Squire Williams as he straightened out the goods that had become disarranged on the shelves. George had made his home for several years back with the Squire and they had become much at- tached to him. "I'm afraid neighbor Forest's Alph won't stand the hardships. He's a'llers been sort of sickly like and a great home boy," said the first speaker. "But we shall see." Every day the interest in the coming of the mail-man increased, and news was eagerly looked for from the seat of war. The regiment had moved by rail to Washing- ton and went into camp near the city, and later, moved out about eight miles to Camp Hays. Here our soldier boys had their first experience in the daily routine of camp life. Their spare mo- ments were spent in writing letters home. All was moving along with its usual serenity in N , the coming of the mail-man was eagerly looked for, and letters from either of the absent four were first read at home, then to eager groups who would gather to listen to news "from the army," as the expression went. But there were letters received at the N 3O ANDREW BENTLEY. post-office that did not become common property ; they were meant for one pair of eyes alone. An- nie Preston eagerly devoured the loving epistles that came from her soldier boy, and in return she sent messages laden with love and affection, that went a great way to cheer our lonely soldier's heart. Annie had always been a favorite with Andrew's mother, but now the bond of friendship between them seemed to strengthen, and she was often to be seen treading the path through the orchard lead- ing in the direction of Farmer Bentley's. Annie's visits were much enjoyed by Andrew's mother al- though she had not the slightest conception of the bond existing between her son and this fair daugh- ter of the rich Judge Preston. The work of organizing and putting into prop- er condition the vast army that was assembling under the leadership of McClellan, or "Little Mac," as he was familiarly called by the men under him, was pursued with vigor during the fall, and extending well into the winter. The regiment to which our young heroes be- longed went into winter quarters near Fort Lyon in Virginia, and settled down to as much comfort as they could possibly get. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 3! With the reader's indulgence we will here give in brief a transaction that occurred some time prior to the opening of our story, in order to shed light upon subsequent events, and show the sacrifice a father made at a time when he needed the strong arm of a stalwart son. The early days of the gold excitement in Cal- ifornia had found John M. Bentley, the father of Andrew, among the many who rushed from all points in the East, to seek a fortune in the rich mines reported to be discovered in the mountain valleys along the Pacific slope. After enduring many hardships, and meeting with many reverses of fortune, he at last developed a rich claim and, seized with an intense longing to see his loved ones whom he had left far back in the East, and being somewhat broken down by expos- ure, he resolved to give up the life of a miner. He had no difficulty in finding a ready pur- chaser for his claim at a good figure, and with his suddenly acquired wealth, he at once set his face toward the land of his birth, resolved to settle down for the remainder of his days. A short time after his arrival in the East, an opportunity was given him of buying a fertile tract of land lying close to the little village of N . 32 ANDREW BENTLEY. Mr. Bentley paid for this land with a portion of the gold he had brought from California. With the remainder of his wealth he erected a com- modious dwelling-house and neat barn. He also stocked his farm with cattle, and a few good draught horses, for he was more disposed to stock raising than tillage of the ground. It was not long before Meadowfield farm for such it was called was looked upon as the most desirable of any of the homesteads to be found among the many fertile farms with which West- moreland county abounded, and ere a decade of years had passed, Mr. Bentley, the gold miner, had transformed into the prosperous farmer. His eldest son had chosen the vocation of a mill- er and, as has been stated, had met with an accident which caused his untimely death. The youngest son, a mere youth, spent much of his time with an uncle living in Michigan, with whom he was a great favorite. This left but one boy at home, Andrew, a strong sturdy lad nearing manhood, who proved to be a great help to his father in the management of the farm. A few years previous to the opening of our story, a company had been organized to prospect for oil within the territory surrounding N . AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 33 Test wells were to be put down, and Farmer Bentley, still possessing the spirit that led him westward in quest of gold, now became enthusi- astic over the prospect of getting oil. He declared that he believed that in a little while they would find their valleys as rich as any of the mineral land lying in the valley of the Yuba. It was quite natural that, being so enthusiastic, he was a ready investor and held a considerable amount of stock in the new venture. Derricks went up, and day and night the sound of the drill could be heard, as well after well went down, but nothing but a slight flow of gas was ever realized. At once the golden visions of the investors took wings and sped away, leaving them nothing but the ashes of disappointed expectations. Another enthusiast over the expected discovery of oil was good old Doctor Merriman, who had al- so invested heavily ; so much so, that being unable to realize much in way of collections, he was obliged to apply to Squire Williams for a loan. This the Squire was willing to grant, provided the doctor would furnish good security. Doctor Merriman knew he had during his long 34 ANDREW BENTLEY. professional career befriended many in a financial way, but to find a friend when now in need was an- other thing to consider. But he felt sure of one to whom he could apply, whom he felt would be willing to befriend him, for he had in other days found John M. Bentley a man always willing and ready to assist a friend. But as Bentley had, as he knew, lost heavily in the ill-starred oil speculation, and the amount for which he desired to secure an endorsement being a large one, he pondered over the matter for some time before he could make up his mind to ask his neighbor for his signature. When Doctor Merriman approached his neigh- bor he found him ready to accommodate him, but the farmer frankly told his old physician that he was poorly prepared to stand good for an obliga- tion of that kind without a great sacrifice, in event of the doctor being unable to meet it when called upon. The honest old doctor set the farmer's fears at rest, by stating that Squire Wililams was willing to give the money for an indefinite time, and that in order to secure his friend he would execute a judg- ment in favor of Farmer Bentley, to hold until his payment of the debt to Squire Williams. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 35 This seemed satisfactory, and the endorsement of John M. Bentley appearing upon the paper, the money was readily obtained from the Squire. This debt was made payable in gold, the issue of paper currency, familiarly known as "green- backs," not having yet taken place. The financial stress having been relieved, the old doctor gave no more thought on the matter, and as Squire Williams was not sorely in need of money, the years went on apace and the obligation remained uncancelled. It was in the early spring time of the opening year of the war that an unlooked for accident oc- curred, shocking the entire community, and for the time driving from the minds of the inhabitants of N and vicinity, all speculations of the com- ing struggle. Doctor Merriman was like most all country physicians, a public servant, who was expected to answer the demands of the public, at any and all hours of the day or night. He was a faithful practitioner, waiting upon rich and poor, without discrimination. It was on his return from a night visit to a poor family, where in all probability the pay for his services would likely be more gratitude than any- 36 ANDREW BENTLEY. thing else, that he was found one foggy morning lying unconscious at the foot of a precipitous bluff, amid the wreck of his buggy and a dead horse. No one knew how it happened, but the road at this point had always been considered dangerous, and its icy condition at this time of the year gave grounds for the supposition that probably in the dense fog the old doctor had driven too near the edge. In his unconscious condition they tenderly carried him home, where in a few short hours of great anxiety to his family and those at his bedside, he who had fought back the "grim reaper" from many a home in the community, yielded to the in- exorable and passed away, leaving much of his work unfinished and his business affairs in an un- settled condition. Doctor Merriman had a large family that had never been taught to practice economy, and the demand upon his purse had been both constant and heavy. The good old man, while very attentive to his patients, had proven a poor collector and some- what negligent of his business accounts. Those appointed to settle up his affairs found but few charges upon his books, although all knew his practice was a large one. AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 37 It was soon demonstrated that his estate was deeply insolvent. The claim of Squire Williams had never been liquidated, but in addition, the in- terest for several years back had not been paid. This indebtedness, Farmer Bentley was obliged to assume. He paid to Squire Williams the inter- est due, and as he was not able to cancel the obli- gation at that time, he gave the Squire a first mort- gage upon Meadowfield. However, it was tacitly understood by both, that the mortgage would not be foreclosed without first having Farmer Bentley's consent. Andrew Bentley was aware of this indebted- ness, and for months prior to his enlistment had been assiduous in his duties on the farm, and the entire family had been observing the most rigid economy that the mortgage might be lessened, and in time lifted. But the tidal wave of patriotism was sweeping o'er the land, and for the present all other aspira- tions were submerged and Andrew was already a soldier, hoping that he could at least help his father a little by sending home his monthly pay. Annie Preston did not attend the school in the little academy that winter. The illness of her mother rendered it necessary to remain at home. 38 ANDREW BENTLEY. There were also several absentees among the young men who usually attended. A number of them had caught the war fever and had enrolled them- selves among the country's defenders , and our young friend, Henry Williams, concluding he was of more need in his father's store, decided to re- main away from school that winter also. He was in this way afforded an opportunity of seeing Annie Preston and waiting upon her, when she occasion- ally paid a visit to the store to purchase some nec- essary article for use at home. Henry had all along cherished the hope that some day the fair Annie would condescend to smile upon him, and now since Andrew Bentley was ab- sent there seemed to be a clear field to pursue the most cherished desire of his heart and win the ob- ject of his affection, but Annie always seemed to carry with her an air and manner that kept Henry at a respectful distance. But one morning she came tripping into the store with so much sunshine in her face that Hen- ry's stock of courage experienced quite a raise. Annie had just received a long letter from Andrew, and consequently was in a very cheerful frame of mind. Henry waited upon her very attentively and af- AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 39 ter placing her purchases carefully in her basket, lifting his hat, he politely remarked that he would carry her basket for her as he was going over her way. The young lady thanked him and together they left the store and proceeded up the highway that led to Judge Preston's residence. House delivery of packages purchased was not in vogue at that date in N , but Henry had made this ostensible excuse in order to secure an interview with Annie. The air was crisp and cool, although the sun was doing his best to warm up frozen nature. As they walked along, .Henry was thinking very hard for something to say that might lead up to the subject most in his mind. They had walked along some distance in silence, when Annie noticing her companion's reticence, asked him if anything had gone wrong in his bus- iness at the store. "Business never was better," was Henry's prompt answer. "Made a good deal last week in the purchase of a large lot of potatoes, as early this week an agent for the Government was around try- ing to buy up all the potatoes he could for the army, consequently they have advanced twenty cents on the bushel." "This war makes hardships not only on the 4O ANDREW BENTLEY. field of battle, but at home as well/' replied his fair companion, "for with the rise in the price of the commodities of life, the efforts of the poor man to support his family become harder, as well as the families of soldiers in the field, for the pay of an en- listed man is not very large, I understand. Oh, how I wish the war was over!" And her voice was full of pathos. "No doubt you do, in fact we all do, but war makes times good and business brisk, and that is what we all like to see. I believe every man should look out for himself." Annie turned upon him with a look in her eyes in which surprise and contempt were both min- gled. "Why Henry Williams ! I did not think you would count the gain in dollars and cents to be compared to the suffering and sorrow that is now abroad in our land." Henry at once saw his mistake and hastened to rectify it. "You misunderstand me, Annie. I only meant that it was the part of every good business man to embrace the advantages which the vicissi- tudes of war bring, and over which he has no con- trol." "I am in full sympathy with our soldiers at the front," he continued, "and have of late thought se- AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 4! riously of enlisting myself." Henry hardly meant all of the latter remark, but he advanced it as an act of diplomacy. "I am pleased to hear you say this Henry, for our country stands in need of every loyal defender. Your father could easily get hired help to assist him in the store, and I am sure you would make a brave, courageous soldier, one that our village would be proud of." And Annie beamed upon him a look which made Henry's heart thrill with joy. "Would you really like to see me go as a sol- dier? Would you miss me very much?" and here Henry's voice had almost a perceptible tremor in it. "To be sure I would like to see you in the uni- form of one of our country's defenders and as for missing you, you well know that our society is not so large but that the most modest and retiring would be missed." This was not just the answer that Henry was eagerly expecting. They had by this time reached the gate of the pathway leading to the house, and Henry determined before relinquishing his hold upon the basket to make one more attempt to learn whether there was any hope of having a place in the affection of the fair maiden at his side. 42 ANDREW BENTLEY. "Annie," and in his gray eyes there was a look she had not seen before, "I would gladly enlist to- morrow, and cheerfully take up the hardships of a soldier's life, if I but knew that while I was battling for my country, there was one very dear to me at home who would cherish my memory and wait and watch for my return, and that, that one was your own dear self." This was hardly unexpected, for Annie had a suspicion that Henry cherished for her a feeling of more than ordinary friendship, but she was sur- prised at the fervor of his tone and the manner of declaration, for close to this very spot, over a year before, a declaration of almost like character had been poured into her ear. Her face was suffused with blushes reaching to the roots of her dark waving hair, and it was a mo- ment before she made reply. When she did so, her eyes seemed to have a far away look, as though she was trying at that moment to pierce the dis- tance that lay between her and the dear one then in the ranks of the Nation's defenders. Her voice was kind but firm. "Henry, you should not let a passing fancy be the motive to prompt you to deeds of valor, but it should be a higher one a love of country a desire to defend AN UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEW. 43 a flag that has never known dishonor. I cannot promise all you ask, but I will pray for you as I do for all our soldiers, and when you return, will be glad to welcome you back as my soldier friend." But this did not satisfy the prospective Son of Mars. So he resolved upon another attempt to awaken her feeling. "But, dear friend, may I not have some hope to carry with me, to help me on the weary march and nerve me in the heat of con- flict? Think of what you are able to do. Your promise would cheer me in the darkest hour, and be the spur to urge me on to deeds of heroism. I would" But here Annie interrupted him. "You must not speak to me in this manner, and I am wrong in listening to you. Please let me have my basket for I see mother is waiting for me." Henry handed her the basket, and in as pleas- ant a tone as possible to command under the ex- isting state of affairs, he lifted his hat, bidding her a polite good morning, turned on his heel and rapidly strode back toward the village, while he muttered to himself : "Confound it ! I'll bet a good sum she has given a promise to Andy Bentley." "Dear, me ! but she has high notions of patriot- ism. To hear her talk one would think she was a 44 ANDREW BENTLEY. direct descendant from Daniel Webster. I won- der if she thinks I am dying to go and eat hard- tack and salt pork, and at the command of a big epauletted General, march up to be riddled by rebel bullets." "No, pray excuse me! I prefer to sell coffee and sugar in my father's store, and then when the brave soldier comes home covered with glory and precious little money in his pocket, how much nicer it will be for me to look over my snug bank account and feel I am secure against a rainy day." And comforting himself with thoughts like these, he en- tered his father's store and passed the remainder of the day in attending to the wants of customers and receiving the produce brought in for sale or ex- change. He was quite busy all day, but while his hands were occupied with the work before him, his mind kept pace with his hands, though in another direc- tion, for while Henry Williams had met with a po- lite refusal at the hands of the fair Annie, he was by no means willing to give up his suit ; but what troubled him most was the position she took re- garding the duty every young man owed his coun- try. Henry had no taste for war. He was at heart WOUNDED. 45 a coward, and as before stated, his intimation of enlisting was only made for policy sake. True, he might be willing to go for a short time, provided he could secure a safe place in the Commissary De- partment and a promise of affection from Annie Preston, but as neither seemed within his grasp, Henry's mind was busy perfecting some other way to secure the prize. 46 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER III. WOUNDED. HE coming of the warm days of spring had quite an enlivening effect upon the army which had been lying in snug winter quarters around Washington and adjacent parts of Virginia. Great things were expected of the "Army of the Potomac," and when it began to uncoil itself like a huge serpent, and move out of its camps, the interest throughout the land was fully aroused. A campaign against Richmond had been plan- ned by way of the Peninsula. The army was car- ried by transports down the river, landing at Fort- ress Monroe in great strength. Early in April it slowly began its march towards Yorktown, which was evacuated by the Confed- erates and taken peaceable possession of by the Union army. Next followed the battle of Wil- liamsburg in which the Sixty regiment par- ticipated, bearing the brunt of the battle and ren- dering gallant service. WOUNDED. 47 This being the first battle in which our four sol- dier boys were under fire, their feelings can bet- ter be imagined than described, but no doubt their thoughts were of home, as shot and shell went screaming through the air, carrying death and de- struction in their wake. The battalion in which their company ranked was ordered to fix bayonets and charge across a marshy strip of land to dislodge a body of the en- emy, that were stationed in the wood beyond, whose fire had been very destructive. Andrew Bentley cast a brief glance down the line to observe the faces of his three companions. He was not disappointed, for each one had stamped upon his countenance a look of resolute determin- ation. The word was given, and the line moved out as if on parade. Not a waver, but with the steadiness of veterans they moved on. Just as they reached the borders of the morass alluded to, the ominous silence was broken by a terrific volley of musketry from the woods beyond, which swept the entire line. Many sank down mo- tionless, forever still, while others threw up their hands, clutching wildly at the air, plunged forward to sink down in the soft oozy mud, there to wal- low like animals in their death struggle. 48 ANDREW BENTLEY. For a moment the advance was checked, but the commanding officer, seeing a delay at this point would prove disastrous, he sharply gave the com- mand to "Forward ! Double quick time !" and the line dashed forward leaving their dead and wound- ed as they fell. As the line had reached the swampy morass just before the murderous fire which proved so fatal, Andrew Bentley in trying to secure a firm foot hold, suddenly slipped and endeavoring to regain his equilibrium, plouted forward into the swamp just in time to escape the devastating fire. He quickly regained his feet and dashed forward with his comrades. He felt that the mishap was more providential than accidental, for the man who marched directly behind him lay silent upon the edge of the morass, with a gaping wound in his breast, but he had no time to reflect on "what might have been," for the line was quickly emerging from the dark mud through which they had passed, and gaining the solid ground without waiting to reform their line, with a wild "Huz-za" they dashed into the wood driv- ing everything before them, and capturing a light battery that had just come up to the support of the infantry, but had not time to unlimber and get into position. WOUNDED. 49 The fight was won, but at a fearful cost, for back along their track lay at least one-third of the brave band that started in the charge so valiantly. A detail was made up to look after the dead and wounded, and when Andrew Bentley was chosen, he was much pleased for when the line was re- formed, he had missed the form of Phineas Gray, and he felt anxious to learn of his fate. The wounded were assisted to higher ground where it was dry, and those who were past all need of earthly help, were tenderly carried and laid in rows by the border of the swamp. Andrew's worst fears were realized, for among those mortally wounded he found his comrade Phineas. The poor boy realized he had only a short time to live, for from an ugly wound in his side, his life-blood was slowly ebbing away. An- drew placed him a little apart from the rest. He gave him a drink of water from his canteen, which seemed to revive him some. He hastened to pro- cure some clear water, which he carried in his cap, and kneeling beside him, proceeded to bathe his comrade's wounds, first cutting away the mud- stained garments, and doing his best to stop the flow of blood. In this, he was in a measure success- ful ; then after tenderly removing the splashes of 4 50 ANDREW BENTLEY. mud from the white face and hands of Phineas, and binding his handkerchief as best he could over the gaping wound, he sat down and took the hand of his comrade in his own. "Phineas, my brave boy, is there any word you would want me to send home?" The dying soldier opened his blue eyes and said, "Yes ! Tell 'em at home we whipped, only I was not in at the finish." "But Phineas, haven't you a word for your father and mother?" "Yes, tell 'em tell 'em I did all I could, but it wasn't much. Yes, tell mother not to weep for her boy, for I am not afraid to die." Just then the other two comrades came up, and soon the trio were kneeling, and with eyes dimming with tears, were gazing into the face of their fast sinking comrade. "Boys!" said Phineas, "Don't ever turn your back on the old flag ! You, Andy, and you George and Alpheus, may you all get safely home. Good-bye, but tell 'em I couldn't come." An ashy pallor had crept over his face, he closed his eyes, his limbs quivered and they all thought WOUNDED. 5 1 him dead, but just then a bugle in the distance rang out and with a start the young soldier partly raised himself by an almost superhuman exertion. His eyes blazed with their wonted light ; he lis- tened a moment. "Tis the assembly call ; I must hasten, meet me in " His head fell back, there was a strange rattle in his throat, and Phineas Gray's soul had gone out to join the great encampment on the other shore. His companions having secured leave of ab- sence, carried his body to the foot of a great pine tree that stood on the edge of the swamp, and after wrapping him in his blanket, they dug a grave and, with sad hearts, tenderly placed the form of the young soldier within. First covering it with small branches gathered from the evergreen pine they filled in the soft mould, and thus passed from sight one of the yeomanry of our land. The first martyr from the town of N to the great cause of freedom. The three survivors after concluding their labor of love, stood and gazed at each other, while the unspoken question was, Who will be the next? The roar of the cannon had ceased, and while away to the right came occasionally the rattle of musketry, the battle was practically over. Night 52 ANDREW BENTLEY. closed down on the scene of conflict, and under its cover the enemy evacuated the town, and next morning the Union army moved forward to within seven miles of the rebel Capitol. The news of the battle of Williamsburg, and the death of Phineas Gray reached N in advance of the letters from his surviving comrades, but when Andrew Bentley's letter to the aged father was read, conveying the news incident to the death of Phineas, the entire town went into mourning. A special memorial service was held in the little church, and an appropriate funeral sermon was preached by the white haired pastor. The patriotic old father of Phineas dwelt long and lovingly upon the scene of his boy's death and his parting words, and while the tears streamed from his eyes, so he could not see the lines, he kept repeating to himself, "Well, he died just as I would have him. I'm glad he didn't disgrace his uni- form." With the mother it was different ; she could find no solace for the loss of her boy ; her grief was of the silent kind. Already prostrated upon her bed with the infirmities of age, she daily grew weaker until before the summer sun had reached its full zenith, her gentle spirit went out to meet that of her soldier boy Phineas. WOUNDED. 5 3 Annie Preston had also received from Andrew a full account of the battle and the death of his com- rade. She shed copious tears as she perused the letter for she well remembered the bright eyed youth, and Annie had a dread that she might ere long be called to mourn the death of one now very dear to her. On the 3 ist of May was fought the battle of Fair Oaks. The regiment lost heavily in this bat- tle. Company A was in the hottest of the fight and covered itself with glory. Our young friend, George Coulter, displayed great heroism during the fight and won the chevrons of sergeant. Early in the action, Andrew Bentley received a bullet wound in the right arm, and although it was much against his will, he was compelled to repair to the hospital. There it was discovered that his wound was more serious than it at first appeared. Alpheus Forrest passed through the battle un- scathed. He whom they had prophesied at home would not be able to stand the hardships of the march and battle, seemed to grow more rugged every day. The tide of conflict swept on, but Andrew's con- finement in the hospital prevented him from taking part in the many battles which followed in that dis- 54 ANDREW BENTLEY. astrous campaign. His wound, though only through the fleshy part of the arm seemed stubborn and resisted all attempts at healing. A low fever set in, and instead of Andrew improving, his strength was waning. He had been sent with many others to one of the hospitals near Washing- ton; but the wounded from the many battlefields coming in so fast, the conditons of things necessi- tated a removal of those best able to stand a jour- ney to a hospital at Annapolis, and our friend An- drew found himself among those to be sent away. After his arrival at Annapolis, he for a time ap- peared to improve, but one day being exposed to a cold draught of air, which swept in from off the bay, he was forced back to his cot again in the ward. Here we find him writing to Annie, and with her permission we will give our readers a portion of the letter. Convalescent Hospital, ; Annapolis, Md. Oct. 5th, 1862. Dearest Annie: Here I am still in the hospital. I had hoped when I wrote you last, I would write my next from the convalescent camp near this place, or what would be more pleasant, to greet you all at home, which I might be able to do if I could only secure WOUNDED. 5 5 a furlough, but it seems they don't care to grant furloughs to men in my condition. It would be about as easy to secure a discharge, but I am hop* ing day after day to be able to go back to the ranks. If I could only get hold of something that would taste good. Oh, how I would relish some of mother's good apple-dumplings. I know they would not hurt me. Four long months has it been since I first came into the hospital. My wound has about healed but it seems I cannot get away. This is all we will give of the letter, as the rest is not for our perusal. Annie received this missive one cold snowy evening. Her mind had been ill at ease of late, owing to Andrew's protracted ill- ness, and the occasional attempts of Harry Wil- liams to renew his suit. She read the letter twice, then quietly putting on her wraps she made her way in the twilight to the home of Andrew's parents, for a thought had taken possession of her mind, and with Annie to think was to act. She had revealed the existing state of affairs betwixt Andrew and herself to his mother, when news first came of his being wounded and the mother having loved her as a daughter, was now more than ever pleased. Annie's visit though late, was no surprise, as she came both early and late. After laying aside her wraps, she came 56 ANDREW BENTLEY. quickly to the object of her visit. "I have received a letter from Andrew," she remarked as she took the seat proffered her, and drawing it forth, pro- ceeded to read that portion already known to our readers. When she came to the part wherein Andrew spoke of it being about as easy to procure a dis- charge as a furlough, she stopped and very em- phatically said, "Why not try and get a discharge? Andrew can recover better at home than there, and when he gets well and strong, he can enlist again if he wishes to." The father was only too glad to re- ceive assistance in getting his boy home, so Judge Preston was consulted, and the two interviewed the Congressman of their district, and received his promise to use his influence in Andrew's behalf. It was not many days thereafter when an offi- cial envelope was placed in Andrew's hands. He eagerly opened it and drew forth a neatly folded paper which, upon opening, proved to be an honor- able discharge from the United States service for disability arising from impaired health. This was truly a surprise to the invalid. "How came it all about? Who had taken so much inter- est in him?" All day long Andrew puzzled his brain to know by what means it was secured, but no one seemed able to tell him. WOUNDED. 57 In the evening mail a letter came from Annie and the mystery was solved, and now Andrew was quite anxious to be on his way homeward. He re- mained, however, until morning when, with the as- sistance of some kind comrades, he made his way to the depot and boarded the early express for home, first having sent a telegraph message that he would arrive at M , the nearest station to N , about six P. M. of that same day. The journey home was enjoyed by the invalid soldier. The change of scene did him good, and he felt a new fire in his veins as he gazed out of the car window on the snow covered landscape fast flitting by, and realized that every turn of the fast revolving wheels brought him nearer home. In due time, the train drew up at the station aforenamed, and Andrew proceeded to alight. He had no sooner reached the platform than his hand was quickly grasped and heartily shaken by Adam Jones, the hired man on the farm, whom Farmer Bentley had sent to the station with the buggy to bring his son home. The ride was a short one, and soon Andrew was in his mother's fond embrace. She could not but notice the pale, wan cheek and pallid brow of her boy, so much changed since that bright summer 58 ANDREW BENTLEY. morning when he kissed her good-bye. But he was still her Andrew, and nothing should be left un- done to win him back to health and strength. The aged father that evening in the family devo- tions thanked the God of his Christian faith that their boy was once more by their side. Andrew slept soundly that night 'neath the warm blankets which his mother tucked carefully around him. In the morning he awoke, feeling much refreshed and with a glad joy in his heart that he was back in the old home and soon to greet his loved one, for he felt sure Annie would seize the first opportunity to run over. , Breakfast being over and the house-work com- pleted, Andrew was enjoying a pleasant chat with his parents on various topics. He sat by the win- dow out of which he cast furtive glances, for from where he sat, he commanded a view of the pathway running up through the orchard. All of a sudden a joyous light lit up his face and he tremblingly arose and approached the front door, for he had rec- ognized a familiar form coming through the or- chard. His mother had noticed his frequent glances from the window. She saw the glad look come into his eyes, and with a woman's keen intuition she WOUNDED. 59 divined the cause. With a significant look at her husband she quietly left the room, he soon follow- ing her. Annie had all morning been thinking of An- drew. She knew he was to arrive the evening be- fore, and the thought uppermost in her mind was the propriety of her going to visit him, but then the desire to see her lover was so great, and again, she did not know when he might be able to visit the Preston home. So after the morning work was done, she smoothed back her dark tresses, putting on a jaunty little walking hat, and throwing a wrap over her shoulders, lightly tripped away in the di- rection of Farmer Bentley's. Her heart was full of joyous anticipation of soon standing face to face with her soldier lover. Andrew stood within the open doorway, a look of eager expectation in his eyes. Annie hastened up the walk and with a joyous cry of "Oh ! how glad I am that you've come back," she was instantly folded in his warm embrace. As soon as she was released, she stepped back- ward and took an earnest survey of her hero. The ruddy bloom which was on his cheeks when he last parted from her was gone, the once neatly fitting uniform now looked as though it was several sizes 6O ANDREW BENTLEY. too large. He smiled to see her scrutiny, for he knew he was changed. "Not quite up to expectations, am I?" "Oh,Andrew how you must have suffered/' and as she looked upon him with a face full of sympathy and love, Andrew thought she had never appeared so beautiful before. "Yes, my dear girl, but I am feeling much im- proved already, and I think I shall soon be on the highway to complete health." And leading her to a seat, they conversed for some time in low tones on matters of interest only to themselves. After a lapse of time, they were interrupted by Andrew's mother entering the room. She greeted Annie warmly. "Well, our soldier boy is back with us again and we are all very happy," said the old lady. "Yes," replied Annie, "and we will do our best to win him back to health and strength, though we must try not to spoil him," and casting a mishiev- ous glance at Andrew she said, "How about the apple dumplings?" "Yes, mother," said Andrew, "you know I was always partial to that dish." "Well," said the fond mother, "you shall have DRAFTED. 6 1 them, my dear boy, and anything the larder will af- ford if it but does you good." Annie spent a very pleasant time in the com- pany of Andrew and his mother and the forenoon was nearly gone when she reluctantly put on her wraps and prepared to return home. Andrew, although it required somewhat of an effort, walked slowly down to the gate with her, where they parted, Annie promising to come over often, as long as Andrew was unable to walk about much. Thus the winter at home passed very pleasantly to at least two of our characters. Andrew was much interested in the war news, especially any- thing pertaining to his old regiment. The bloody battle of Fredericksburg had been fought, and the Union loss was quite heavy. In this engagement the Sixty , Penna., was badly cut up in the forlorn attempt to storm a stronghold back of the town called "Marye's Heights." Many had fallen and Company A had come in for its share of the mortality. Fortu- nately Andrew's two comrades had escaped with- out injury. Again had George Coulter shown heroism, for which he had been rewarded with the shoulder straps of a Lieutenant. 62 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER IV. DRAFTED. INTER passed without much stir in the quiet little village of N . An- drew Bentley's health had improved very much, and when he was able to be about in the town, many were the interviews he had with the neighbors, for they were never tired listening to the incidents of army life. Quite often these interviews were held in Squire Williams' store, for the post-office had been awarded to the Squire, and this brought in a goodly number of the villagers, especially about mail-time. Henry Williams took but very little interest in Andrew's conversation. In fact he seemed to avoid him, but this gave Andrew little concern as he had never been on terms of intimacy with the young man, and Annie had never revealed to him that Henry aspired to a place in her affection. The warm April sun was spreading its genial influence throughout the land, and nature aroused from her long winter sleep, began to bestir herself. DRAFTED. 63 Everywhere the bursting bud and blossom could be seen robing hill and dale with a rich ves- ture of colors. Andrew had regained much of his usual strength, and quite often were he and Annie to be found taking long strolls through the wood- land, he gathering for her the rarest of wild flowers that grew by the way. They had in the months gone by, many conver- sations regarding their future. As Andrew's health returned, he kept urging upon Annie to name a day for the consummation of his long cherished hopes. Annie did not oppose his urgent entreaties, but ow- ing to the serious illness of her dear mother, she felt that she could not well name an early date for their marriage. Recognizing the force of her argument, Andrew did not urge the matter further upon her. The days passed quietly to those at home, but were fraught with activity to those at the front. The telegraph brought the news of the terrible bat- tle of Chancellorsville, which proved a defeat to the Army of the Potomac. The change of command- ers in the army had not the desired effect, but seemed to bring disaster. A draft was made of men throughout the North whose ages ranged be- tween twenty-one and forty-five. 64 ANDREW BENTLEY. And now happened a very strange and unex- pected event in our little village. Andrew Bentley barely recovered from a long period of convales- cence, and holding an honorable discharge, was among those drafted. It was an unprecedented case which Andrew felt much like contesting, but it seemed useless. Might triumphed over right, and the time for his second departure drew near. An- drew had fully purposed returning to the ranks, but the thought was galling to have to return as a conscript rather than a volunteer soldier. His friends were all in sympathy with him, but that did not help him any, so with a heavy heart he bade his friends adieu. Annie did her best to cheer him up. "Tis not my going back to the war, my dear girl, but the way I am going," said Andrew de- spondently. "Yes, but you can still prove yourself a true sol- dier," was the brave girl's reply. "Don't forget your dead comrade's dying injunction, 'Never turn your back upon the old flag.' God bless you, An- drew, and may he bring you back safe again." And with these words ringing in his ears, he turned his steps homeward to take a last farewell of his fond parents ere he proceeded to the place of rendezvous for the drafted men. DRAFTED. 6$ These men were not formed into separate or- ganizations of their own, but were sent forward in detachments to fill up depleted regiments, and by a strange coincidence, Andrew was assigned to his old company and regiment. His greeting with the two friends with whom he had first enlisted was a pleasant surprise on their part, for they hardly expected to see him back again and they had many questions to ask of home. They could not fail to notice the depressed state of Andrew's feelings, and they felt anxious to know the cause. It was only by close questioning they learned that Andrew was not in the ranks as a vol- unteer soldier, but a conscript, and this was far from a pleasant reflection to one of as high nervous tem- perament as he was. Andrew found the personnel of the regiment much changed. The Colonel who first took the regiment out had been promoted to the command of a brigade, and this brought a change to many oi the other officers down the line. In his own company, the Captain had resigned and returned home, and the first lieutenant having been killed at Chancellorsville, the company was now com- manded by Captain George Coulter, who bore his honors modestly. Alpheus Forrest had been pro- 5 66 ANDREW BENTLEY. moted to the position of Color Sergeant, and to him was entrusted the colors of the regiment which from all appearance gave evidence of having seen some hard service. Andrew fell gradually back into the groove of a soldier's life ; he was always ready for duty, prompt in obedience, respectful to his superiors, was never heard to murmur, but with all this he seemed and acted, just what he was, "a conscript soldier." On the march or in the battle, he was always found in his place, but never exhibiting the enthusiasm that characterized him in the earlier days of his soldier life. He wrote and received long letters from his Annie, and thus the days passed on. Marches were made, battles were fought, and still the war continued, and the capture of Richmond seemed as far qff as ever to the struggling Union Army. The draft that called Andrew Bentley from his sweetheart's side, also called Squire Williams from the grocery store. The Squire lacked only a few years from being exempt from the draft. But the fiat had gone forth, and he must go as a soldier or furnish a substitute. How to leave his business in- terests and family was now a quandary. While the Squire was intensely patriotic, it was largely of the stay at home kind of patriotism. DRAFTED. 6/ His son was physically qualified to take his father's place, but Henry was at heart a coward, and never seemed to take an interest in war matters like the youth of the neighborhood. After giving the matter a good deal of serious thought, and the time drawing nigh for the con- scripts to report for duty, Squire Williams broached the subject to his son, and while he did not meet with a positive refusal from him, there was in Henry's manner that which did not offer his father much encouragement. The Squire was in trouble; he felt that he was poorly able to go himself, and that he should hardly be expected to do so, when he had a son to take his place. True, he might possibly hire a substitute as others had done, but this would re- quire quite a sum of money, for large bounties had been offered and paid by those who were able to do so. The Squire had not in hand much ready cash, for it seemed that of late since Henry presided in the store for some cause or other, trade had fallen off and many of their former customers had trans- ferred their patronage to a rival store in a little vil- lage two miles down the road. But something had to be done; so the Squire 68 ANDREW BENTLEY. and his good wife held a conference, and it was de- cided to make Henry the proffer of a little stock of gold the old couple had laid by for a possible rainy day. Only a few hundred dollars, but they thought the claims of a father upon a son should count for something. Henry was called in, and the father, after re- counting o'er the many things that stood in the way of his going to the war, finished up with a re- minder to his son, that he was asking him to do no more than many another young man had volun- tarily done, but as he knew Henry was just enter- ing upon manhood and would need some little start in life, he stated his willingness to place in his hands their little savings for years, and he poured forth upon the table from a small canvas bag his stock of gold. Henry's cupidity was at once aroused and draw- ing nigh he asked, while his gaze rested on the glit- tering coin, "How much have you there, father?" "Only a few hundred dollars, my son, and it is yours, together with a father's and mother's grat- itude, if you but take my place in the ranks." Henry had a little fund of his own laid by, and the thought came to his mind that with a few hun- dred more, that he might exact from his father, DRAFTED. 69 he could realize a long cherished desire to secure some real estate of his own, and Henry's mercenary principle being so strongly predominant in his make-up, he did not hesitate to reduce his parents, if necessary, to a very narrow existence so he might accumulate more wealth. Therefore he did not readily respond to his father's request, for he fully realized his father would make a greater sacrifice to save himself from serving as a soldier. And again, Henry felt he had something else to aspire to in preference to placing himself between his father and rebel bullets and bayonets. He further knew his father held a mortgage against Farmer Bentley, payable in gold, and there being a high premium on gold just at that time, he knew it would require quite an effort, perhaps a sacrifice of their little farm, for the Bentley's to lift the mortgage should payment be demanded, and Henry felt that it would be gratifying to humble the family ; Andrew, at least. So with a view to the possession of this paper, he made reply to his parents, dwelling at length on the risk he was taking, and the great sacrifice he would make in giving up the comforts of home, and the brilliant prospects of a young man at his time of life. He casually let drop that if a further 7O ANDREW BENTLEY. inducement might be offered, he would consider going away. "My son/* replied the father, "you have now been offered all the available funds I have at com- mand." "Father, you make a mistake ; do you not hold a judgment against Farmer Bentley that you can realize money upon? This, with what you have al- ready offered me might be sufficent to induce me to become a target for the bullets of the enemy," and as he spoke his tone was cold and devoid of any warmth of affection or feeling. "Yes, I do hold a mortgage against Farmer Bentley, but my son, why do you ask this of me? You know my promise to him when I took the mortgage on his place was that as long as he paid the interest promptly I would not foreclose it with- out giving him plenty of time. Besides, you know, my son, it will all be yours after my death." True enough, father," replied Henry, "but I have no doubt if Andrew Bentley were free to go in your place, you would gladly surrender to him the document, and surely my life should be considered worth as much as his, besides I have plans of my own. I have a little stock of money which added to the mortgage might enable me sometime to own DRAFTED. /I the Bentley homestead, to which I might wish to conduct a bride should I be permitted to return from the war." "My son, are you not satisfied to wait for that which will be eventually yours? You know my promise to Andrew's father, and I could not think of forcing him to make a sacrifice now, when his own son has been drafted back into the army. The boy went cheerfully at first, with no promise of recompense above a soldier's meagre pay." At the father's allusion to the patriotism of An- drew, Henry's lip curled and he curtly replied: "Well, if your feeling for the Bentley's stand in your way, I have nothing more to say," and picking up his hat he quickly walked out of the room into the store for he felt in his heart that his father would be obliged to yield, and Henry had fully made up his mind to possess the Bentley farm, if for no other purpose than to flaunt the fact of the poverty of the Bentley's in the face of Annie Preston in case of a final refusal of her hand. On the evening of the day on which the inter- view occurred Henry's father placed in his hand the bag of gold, saying that on the morrow they would go before a notary and he would convey the mort- gage papers over to Henry. 72 ANDREW BENTLEY. Need we say Henry had conflicting dreams that night? The prospect of owning the home of the Bentley's gave him a feeling of great satisfaction, for he was almost confident that if he would fore- close the mortgage, Farmer Bentley would not be able to provide for it as it was payable in gold. Then his going away to the war, and possibly shar- ing a fate like that of Phineas Gray, were thoughts that kept Henry awake for a long time. But after reasoning the thing in his mind, he concluded that not every one who goes into battle gets shot. So mentally resolving that he would keep out of all possible danger he fell asleep, not to dream of honor on the battlefield, but of a new scheme of amassing wealth. The next day Henry became possessor of the papers held against his neighbor, which he left in charge of the notary for future instructions, and ere the close of the day he had donned the blue of a Union soldier, and taken his father's place as one of the mighty host enrolled to preserve the honor of the grand old Union. The new conscripts were soon sent to the front, and Henry found himself assigned to a regiment in the same brigade as the one in which George Coul- ter, Alpheus Forrest and Andrew Bentley were serving. DRAFTED. 73 Camp life did not meet Henry's expectations, and guard duty he abhorred. In fact he despised everything pertaining to a soldier. Hard-tack and salt pork were good enough to sell over his father's counter, but to eat it and make long marches upon it, was another thing. Besides, Henry had met with a great disappointment before leaving home that had preyed upon his mind. He had again managed to have an interview with Annie Preston, and told her of his high resolve (so he put it) of taking his father's place and risking his life for home and country, and now would she not cherish in her heart a little feeling of affection for one who was willing to sacrifice so much? But alas for Henry. Annie's father that morn- ing had been over to the office of Attorney Hart- man, and he had there noticed a legal document ly- ing open upon the attorney's desk which the no- tary, who was present, remarked was the price Squire Williams had evidently to pay for a substi- tute. Of course Judge Preston knew at once that the Squire's own son Henry was the substitute, and this news he repeated at the dinner table. So when Henry began his parade of filial duty, and the glory of being a Union soldier, Annie's heart filled with 74 ANDREW BENTLEY. a contempt for this "prating hireling" soldier, which she felt like calling him, and as she looked upon him, the blue in his blouse faded into a miser- able gray, in comparison with that of her own brave Andrew's uniform, as memory called up that morning when he first stood before her pleading for her hand. Therefore, Henry met with a cold refusal to even hold correspondence with him while away. And in his heart there was a feeling which boded no good for Andrew Bentley, whom he was sure was the barrier that stood in his way, so he made a sinister remark that she might some day learn with surprise of the change in the social standing of some of her neighbors. The fair girl's spirit was aroused by his manner and words, for she well knew to whom Henry had reference. She knew he now held a mortgage against Andrew's father and that he would not hes- itate to take a mean advantage of the old gentle- man if he thought he could in this way wreak a re- venge upon his son. With eyes from which flashed the light of defi- ance, mingled with abhorrence for the cowardly craven before her, she addressed him. "Henry Williams! You measure a man by the houses, DRAFTED. 75 lands, chattels and mortgages he may possess. I measure by the high soul of honor I may know him to have. His wealth to me, lies in his character and manly principle, and the worth of a soldier to his country and her cause is manifested most by voluntary offering of himself, without the consider- ation of bonds and gold." Henry's gaze quailed before the flashing orbs of the proud girl, for he felt that somehow or other she knew the price re- quired to make him a soldier, and it was with a feel- ing in which mortification, disappointment and an- ger were equally blended, that he took his hat, and not even deigning a parting salute he left her pres- ence. While he felt he would give all he was worth to win that girl, if for no other purpose than to defeat his rival, he vowed in his heart, as he walked homeward, that if it lay within his power, Andrew Bentley should never be permitted to lay claim to the hand of the fair Annie Preston. 76 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER V. THE LONELY PICKET. HUS we find Henry doing duty as a sol- dier with none of the love that charac- terizes a martial spirit. No love for the cause in which he was engaged, impelled him on to a fulfillment of the work assigned to him by his superiors. His was a slavish servitude. No cheering letter from a sweetheart at home to buoy him up. He had not as yet met Andrew, or any of those who first went out from N , although they were often in close proximity, as we have hereto- fore mentioned, the regiment in which the N patriots were serving being in the same brigade, they oft times occupied adjoining camps. Month after month passed by without much event to the soldier's life, but with Henry Williams the time passed heavily. His unpleasant manner made him to be detested by his messmates, and they soon learned that he was at heart a coward, so THE LONELY PICKET. 77 it was not long before they showed their contempt for the cowardly conscript, as he was often called. Henry had never given up the thought of wreaking vengeance upon Andrew Bentley, and if possible effect his downfall. But the life of a sol- dier became so galling he resolved in some way or other to secure a discharge from the service. Nothing appeared to him more feasible than to counterfeit an illness of some kind, so it was not long after this thought entered his head, that one morning at roll call Private Williams was reported to be lying in his tent sick, so when the orderly ser- geant drew aside the flaps of his tent and looked in, there lay Henry apparently unable to rise, and suf- fering great pain from what he claimed to be an at- tack of muscular rheumatism, which he feared he had contracted while on picket duty in the swamps of the Chickahominy. He presented such a de- plorable picture of anguish that the ever kind hearted sergeant called a couple of men to bring a stretcher and Henry was immediately carried off to the hospital near by, where he was soon waited up- on by the surgeon in charge who, after carefully diagnosing his case, all the while the sufferer pro- testing that great pain attended his every move- ment, he wisely shook his head, but recommended 78 ANDREW BENTLEY. that the patient be put upon a diet and be envel- oped in cotton batting and covered carefully with warm woollen blankets. He left for him a decoc- tion to produce a profuse sweating, for in his heart the honest old doctor thought the soldier was shamming, but he meant to give him something else to think about beside rheumatic pains. The weather being warm, the condition of the would-be sick man was by no means an enviable one. But he was in for it, and Henry felt he could afford to bear a little discomfort in the hope of get- ting at last free from the army, and he determined that he would never make an attempt to walk until he held his discharge in his hand, and then he could laugh in the face of those in authority over him. So days went by and Henry still lingered in the hos- pital apparently not getting any better. He had written of his condition to his father, and had urged upon him to procure a discharge for him if possible to do so, and the fond old father, be- lieving his son to be really in great distress, exerted all his powers to secure for Henry the much desired discharge. First he applied to Judge Preston to use his influence, but strange to say, the always obliging Judge did not seem to manifest any inter- est in the matter. THE LONELY PICKET. 79 The member of Congress from ,that district was next applied to, but as he had shortly before interested himself in securing for the Squire the post-office, he felt that just then his influence might be somewhat impaired. However, with a politic- ian's usual diplomacy, he put the father off with the promise that he would see what he could do. This the fond parent wrote to his son and Henry, hanging upon this slender thread of promise, still kept up the show of great pain while he watched and waited for the much wished for discharge. It was during his stay in the hospital that Henry made the acquaintance of a strange character that had been brought into the same ward in which he lay and placed upon the cot next to him. This man had been wounded by a bayonet thrust, re- ceived in an attempt to pass the guard without a permit. He had been lounging about the camp for some time. No one appeared to know where he came from, nor did he seem connected with any part of the army, merely a camp follower. He ap- peared to be a harmless sort of a person, always willing to do turns for the officers at headquarters, around which he passed most of his time. How- ever, it was noticed that every now and then he ab- sented himself, but it was always for only a brief pe- 8O ANDREW BENTLEY. riod, so no investigation of his conduct was made. He never was talkative, but always seemed to be quietly observant. There was at one time a slight suspicion that he might be in camp for a purpose, but this had been dismissed until his late attempt to force a passage of the guard. Then it was de- cided that a court of investigation be held just as soon as he was able to be removed from the hos- pital. This man lying so close to the discontented Henry soon made his acquaintance and learned of his disgust of army life and his actual indifference as to the success of the Union arms. He further learned that Henry's affliction was assumed, for the purpose of procuring a discharge, which he assured his auditor would surely come as he had a letter from home promising him political influenece. It was then the wounded man in confidence re- vealed to Henry his true identity. He was in the role of a spy, gathering his information and plac- ing it in the hands of a trusty messenger outside the lines, who being mounted, quickly carried it to the Confederate forces, while the spy would return to camp, his short absence not being suspected as amounting to anything. It was upon one of these excursions that he had THE LONELY PICKET. 8 1 received the wound which was now nearly healed. He said that he feared an investigation might be made after he would leave the hospital and he was in doubt whether he could satisfy the officers re- garding his actions. Henry had been thinking a great deal of how he might get even with Andrew Bentley before he would get his discharge, which he still hoped would be forthcoming, when a fiendish thought came to his mind. Why not use this man to accomplish his evil designs upon Bentley? He accordingly embraced the first opportunity to interview the spy, for such we must now call him. Henry found him quite willing to enter into any conspiracy that would benefit himself and work injury to one of the hated Yankees. The spy was given a description of Andrew Bentley, and at his earliest convenience he was to go over to the camp of the Sixty Penna. and learn to know the form and figure of his proposed victim by sight. He was to learn of the time and place when Andrew would be upon picket line. Henry agreed to pay a handsome price for the capture and imprison- ment of his rival, with the hope that he might not survive the horrible prison pens of the South. He further urged upon the spy to lose no op- 6 32 ANDREW BENTLEY. portunity to forever silence his prisoner if he should prove troublesome. The compact was made and in a short time, the spy's wound having healed, he left the hospital. It was midnight in the marshes along the banks of the Rappahannock. The moon struggling be- hind heavy clouds emitted but a faint light. Small objects could be scarcely outlined at even a short distance. The piping of the frogs in the swamp near by had ceased, and naught was heard but the occasional hoot of an owl in a distant tree-top. A soldier with his musket carelessly extended across his shoulder, paced silently to and fro o'er his lonely beat. Ever and anon he would pause and listen, and then again resume his walk. Reaching the stump of a large tree that had been broken off half way up by one of the fierce storms which had lately swept over that region, felling the giants of the forest before it, the soldier removing his musket from his shoulder, leaned against the broken stump in silence. His mind was resting upon scenes far from those around him. His thoughts were dwelling just then upon a home scene away among the hills of Western Pennsylva- nia. An aged father and a silvery haired mother came up before him and he saw them in memory's THE LONELY PICKET. J 83 vision even as they were no doubt at that moment, locked in slumber's embrace in their own peaceful home, perhaps dreaming of their soldier boy away at the war. Then a vision of loveliness came up in fancy's dream before him and he was again gazing down into the liquid orbs, of to him, the fairest maiden in all the Northland, and he pressed his hand upon the pocket of his army blouse in which rested his moth- er's Bible and his sweetheart's last letter to him. This silent reverie might have continued for some time, but Andrew Bentley, for such the reader has no doubt recognized the lonely picket to be, was quickly brought back to his present surround- ings by the crackling of twigs which seemed to emanate from the neighborhood of the broken tree-top. He at once quickly grasped his gun and pro- ceeded to reconnoitre. It proved to be only an old worn out army mule that appeared to be cropping the buds from the branches of the fallen tree-top. Andrew waited patiently, while he closely watched for further movements of his quadruped visitor. There was one thing that puzzled him: How did the mule get there? Surely he thought he should have noticed its approach. And if it had 84 ANDREW BENTLEY. been there when he made his other round, why had he not noticed it before? He did not wish to draw upon his imagination, but surely it seemed to him as if that mule at one time asumed a stooping pos- ture, which he had never known the old mule on his father's farm to attempt to do. Now it may be only fancy, but did he not see the glitter of some- thing like polished steel? He wished the moon- light might be only a little brighter so he could see a bit clearer. He did not wish to fire and need- lessly alarm the guard, but he had heard of an ap- proach to lonely pickets by animals that in the end did not prove to be animals. Surely this was one of the long-eared gentry and no mistake, but then it moves awkwardly for a mule. It must be badly crippled and broken down, and if so, better be dead than living in misery. What if he should arouse the guard? He could easily explain the matter, and claim the light was uncertain. Andrew had no sooner reached this point of his reasoning than he quickly raised his musket, took aim and fired. He felt almost certain that as he took a hasty aim the animal appeared to be in a crouching posture. But as he fired there seemed to ring out on the night air a cry of human anguish. The report of the gun disturbed the owl in his re- THE LONELY PICKET. 8$ treat, and with a dismal hoot he flapped his wings and flew farther into the wood. Waiting a moment for the smoke from his piece, which hung heavily in the damp atmosphere, to clear away, Andrew cautiously made his way to the fallen animal, which seemed to be in its death throes. As he reached its side, the struggling moon breaking from the cloud that had partly obscured it, now beamed forth in all its brilliancy, lighting up the thicket, and revealing toAndrew, Oh, hor- ror! not a dying animal, but a human form envel- oped within the mule skin, holding in one hand a murderous looking knife, which judging from his present condition, he was not likely to use much, for as Andrew stooped and drew aside the folds of skin, the knife dropped and the man clapping both hands to his side, he vainly attempted to staunch the flow of blood which issued from a gaping wound in his side, made by the bullet from Andrew's mus- ket. The wounded man was making a heroic strug- gle for his life, and the soldier seeing this gently withdrew him from the skin which surrounded him, and placed him in a more comfortable position, after which he gave him a draught of water from his canteen which seemed to revive him somewhat. 86 ANDREW BENTLEY. Just at this moment the Corporal of the guard came hurrying up to learn the cause of the alarm, which Andrew explained to him. The Corporal at once recognized in the form of the prostrate man the individual who had attempted at a previous time to force his way past the guard, from whom he had received the bayonet wound which had sent him to the hospital. He mentioned this to Andrew who, taking a closer survey of the man's features, recognized him as the one he had seen loitering around the Colonel's headquarters only a short time before, but at the time had given him no further thought. "What are we going to do, Corporal?" said Andrew. "We are quite a distance from the hos- pital, and this poor fellow is sadly in need of atten- tion." He had stooped, and with his handkerchief was trying to stay the flow of the poor fellow's life- blood. "It is almost an hour before the relief guard will be around and he will suffer much in that time, perhaps die." The wounded spy looked up with amazement at the show of compassion in the man whom he had been hired to capture or kill. And here he was talking about trying to save him from unnecessary suffering. True, he had fallen through the uner- THE LONELY PICKET. 8/ ring aim of the picket, but such were the fates of war. He further realized that he had received a mortal wound and had not long to live. He beckoned for them both to draw near. They did so and knelt upon the dewy grass at his side. He motioned for another drink from the canteen, which Andrew hastened to give him, rais- ing him up a little so he could rest easier. And then they heard from lips growing fast pale with the ashy hue of death, a dying confession. "Boys, there aint no use doin' anything for me. I'm pretty near a goner. Just let me die and be buried here. Old Virginia's soil is a good enough resting place for any son of the sunny South. But I did hope to have them lay this worthless hulk of mine along side my kindred in the old burying- ground on the banks of the Brazos." He was a Texan and belonged to that famous organization known as the Texas Rangers. That he was a spy he did not deny, but his work was done. Why he was there, at that time and place, he wanted to tell them before he died. Andrew seeing his strength failing, and his voice growing husky, hastened to moisten his lips with the remaining water in the canteen. Then with a great effort and in broken sentences the 88 ANDREW BENTLEY. dying Texan related his meeting with Henry Wil- liams in the hospital, and Henry's confession of his dislike for the service and his pretended illness in order to secure a discharge. The dying man, feeling he ought to make a clean breast of it, revealed all of the plot. How he was to capture Andrew Bentley on the picket line and carry him off to a Southern Prison, and in event of a prospective rescue or escape, to not hesitate to take his life, and thus win a large reward from Henry Williams. Andrew, who had been listen- ing with intense interest to this recital, which so much concerned himself, now started to his feet, exclaiming: "What! Henry Williams, my fellow schoolmate, plotting to take my life? Impossible ! I know of no reason for it ; I never did him an un- kindness in my life; I cannot believe it! Surely you must be mistaken." The dying man lifted his fast glazing eyes to- ward Andrew. "I swear by the God of my fathers I have not lied to you ; but I was a fool to accept his bribe, for what is his gold compared to my life. And to die in this manner ; I had hoped that if death came to me, it would be on the battlefield close to the Bonnie Blue flag of the Southern Confederacy. I am glad that my little girl will never know THE LONELY PICKET. 89 how her old dad " He was not per- mitted to finish the sentence for a rush of crimson blood burst from his mouth, and with a quiver he fell back dead, and lay with wide-open eyes, as though trying to pierce through the long distance that lay between him and his loved ones in the Lone Star State. With a feeling of sadness they placed the bat- tered hide, within which he had met his death wound, over his lifeless body, and Andrew resum- ing his neglected vigil, he was ere long relieved by a change of guard. He puzzled his brain to conjecture the motive Henry Williams had for wishing him out of the way. That he did so, was clearly patent to his mind, but for what reason he was at a loss to know. Andrew had no thought that he was a possible rival of Henry's, for Annie had never at any time mentioned to him that Henry was a suitor for her hand. He did not deem it best to make any charge against Henry who was still in the hospital. He decided to patiently abide his time ; but he had a confidential interview with the Colonel of Henry's regiment. We are not prepared to say what passed in that interview. This we do know, that the next day 9O ANDREW BENTLEY. the Captain of Henry's company received notice from his superior officer to see that Private Wil- liams, now in the hospital, be returned to the ranks, and it was with considerable surprise and no little chagrin that Henry found himself unceremoniously hustled out of the hospital and back into the ranks where the story of his pretended affliction getting out, he was constantly guyed by his comrades who dubbed him "Old Roomatix," which name never left him while he remained in the army. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE 9 1 CHAPTER VI. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. LL was activity within the Union lines. Orders had been issued for the different branches (Artillery, Infantry and Caval- ry) to be ready for a forced march. Ra- tions had been issued, camp equipage had been loaded into the army wagons, ordnance brought up, and ere long there was a steady stream of men, horses and wagons pouring Northward. That division of the Army Corps, in which the characters in our story marched, crossed the Poto- mac near Point of Rocks, and pursued their course Northward through Maryland ; passing close by the battle ground of Antietam, they soon crossed the boundary line and were treading the soil of the Keystone state. It had now become pretty well known through- out the ranks why the army was hurrying North- ward. Rumors had reached them of Lee's invas- ion of Pennsylvania, and all sorts of stories were 92 ANDREW BENTLEY. rife. Some went to say that his objective point was to lay Philadelphia in ashes and move on to the de- struction of New York City. These rumors only served to lend strength and energy to the march- ing Union host in order to cross his path and inter- cept the inroad of the rebel horde. On they marched, only pausing now and again for a short resting spell. Many of the boys in blue with the true characteristics of a soldier, immedi- ately set about starting a little fire over which was placed the familiar black tin cup, for the purpose of making that panacea for a tired soldier, namely, a cup of coffee. But often times before the task was completed, or the odor of the fragrant coffee greeted the olfactories of the waiting soldier, the command was given, "Form ranks! Attention! Route step ! March !" and file after file moved on- ward. The soldier oft times carrying his coffee cup in his hand sipping of its contents as he marched. Everywhere the inhabitants of the section through which they were passing came out and greeted them warmly, for they were not marching through an enemy's country, and within the ranks of the passing host were fathers and brothers of many a Northern home circle. Away on their left rose the ridges of the Blue ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 9$ Mountains, darkly outlined against the clear June sky. Hark ! What's that which comes to the ear of the soldier? It sounds like the heavy roll of distant thunder, but the practiced ear recognizes in the deep rum- bling the sound of heavy artillery firing, and he knows at once 'tis the boom of the Union guns, checking the advance of Lee. At once a ringing cheer bursts forth, caps are tossed high in the air, swords are waved and even the artillery horses recognizing the familiar sound, pricked up their ears, neighed, and with arching necks pranced along apparently eager for the fray, while by a happy thought the band strikes up that patriotic air, "Rally round the flag, boys," and throughout the long line of marchers comes a quicker, firmer step, as they press forward. All the while the roar of the cannon on the heights around Gettysburg growing more clear and dis- tinct. The shades of evening gather, but no orders are issued to go into camp for the night. Only a short halt is made to enable the horses to get a feed of oats, and the soldier to make his black coffee to moisten the hard tack found in his haversack. Soon the bugle call is sounded, and the vast throng moves on. Many a soldier boy of that gal- 94 ANDREW BENTLEY. lant army ready to sink with exhaustion, but on they go ; the one consuming desire of both officers and men is to reach the scene of conflict which was now being waged around the quaint old town pre- viously mentioned, and which ever since has been made famous in history. Reports have now come to the advancing col- umn that the First Corps, under the gallant Rey- nolds, has been all day contesting the advance of the legions of Lee on Seminary Ridge. Later came the sad news of the death of this brave officer, who poured out his life's blood in the gallant de- fense of his own State. As the battle of Gettysburg has been so often graphically described, we will not enter into an ac- count of it, more than to relate the part taken by those with whom our story has to deal. The regiment in which Andrew Bentley and his companions served, as well as the one in which Henry Williams was forced to march much against his will being thrown closely together, they participated largely in the same scenes of bat- tle. About midnight they arrived upon the field, and a halt was called, the men lying down upon their arms in the attempt to snatch a few hours ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 9$ rest before the coming dawn. The last sleep for many a poor soldier boy before he slept "the sleep that knows no waking." At an early hour the reveille was sounded, fol- lowed soon by the call to arms. The soldier not having time to make a fire, hastily swallowed such food as he had remaining in his haversack, munch- ing it as he fell into line. As they advanced, evi- dences of the havoc wrought by the implements of war the preceding day were noticeable in the for- est trees that had been cut and perforated by the flying shot and shell, and soon the ground about them showed plainly how fierce the contest had been for the supremacy. All about them lay the bodies of the slain. "Friend and foe in one red burial blent." Dead horses and broken down artillery, cais- sons, mingled with the soldier dead of both sides. To many, this was a familiar sight, but to Henry Williams who had never even seen a battlefield, or taken part in a conflict, the sight of so much de- struction of life completely un-nerved him, and he felt that if he were back home he would not risk the chances he was now obliged to take for a mortgage on all the frams in old Westmoreland County ; but 90 ANDREW BENTLEY. here he was, and to use a common expression, "in for it," though he inwardly quaked with fear. Shortly after they commenced to move, the column passed through long lines of soldiers who were resting after their conflict of the day before ; many of them still locked in slumber, but those who were stirring, cheered them loudly for they had been almost alone in the fight of the preceding day, reinforcements not having reached them until after the battle had ceased with the coming of night. The wounded had been hastily gathered to the im- provised "Field Hospital," and here the surgeons were busily at work, while the groans of the suffer- ers were enough to strike terror to the bravest heart. The marching column passed on, and soon de- bouched across the open plain, to the piece of ground lying at the foot of Round Top. Here the command prepared to go into action, and a detail being made to guard some of the effects they could not well carry into battle. It was Harry Williams' happy lot to be among those selected and thus it was that he escaped the terrible fighting that shortly took place in what was known to the soldier at that time as "The Wheat Field" and "Sherfy's Peach Orchard," and it was here the Union army suffered the loss of many brave men. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 97 Our friends from N passed through it unscathed, though many a gallant lad was forced to bite the dust. Later in the day the entire brigade was drawn from this part of the field, and sent to the vicinity of what is known as "Gulp's Hill" to support the batteries there. It was at this time that Henry's regiment was ordered to charge, and if possible, dis- lodge a body of the enemy that had been pouring a galling fire upon the famous Knapp's Battery, and picking off the gunners so they could with dif- ficulty man the guns. Now was coming a critical time in the life of one man who had already shown his dislike for war and carnage ; but watching every place for a loop hole of escape, Henry was borne unconsciously on- ward. At this juncture the battery poured forth its final volley prior to the advance of the infantry, and it was under cover of the smoke from the guns that the charge was made. "Steady men!" came the clear command from the old white haired Col- onel of the regiment, followed by "Charge Bayo- nets !" And then burst forth a wild ringing cheer from the command as they dashed forward through the protecting clouds of smoke. Here was Henry's long looked for opportunity. 7 98 ANDREW BENTLEY. The cowardly instinct of the man always pre- dominant, now asserted itself and he no sooner be- came enveloped in the smoke from the guns of the battery, and thus hidden for a short time from the sight of his comrades, than Henry Williams threw aside his musket and made his way rapidly back towards the rear. What cared he whether his comrades would be successful in the charge or not? All principle of honor was lost in him. Henry found it a hard matter to keep clear of soldiers, with which the wood seemed to be full, moving about singly, stragglers like himself, or in small groups, some without any officer in com- mand, and others in charge of a sergeant or cor- poral as it might happen. In coming out of some low underbrush, Henry almost came in contact with one of the latter. It was a considerable sized body of men under charge of a burly red faced sergeant. Henry had barely time to seek a hiding place beneath a projecting rock as the body of infantry passed by. It was well for him he did so, for in the sergeant and group of guards he recognized members of his own company who were escorting a group of gray coated soldiers to the rear. Henry finding his hiding place a good retreat, ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. QQ concluded to remain where he was until the wood was cleared of the soldiery. All that long after- noon the cannon shook the hills with its incessant roar, while the roll of the musketry came in like an organ accompaniment. From his hiding place Henry could see that the lines of gray were being gradually pressed back over the sloping hillside, and ever and again came up the ringing cheer of the boys in blue as they carried some hard contested point. But all these sounds of strife only added to the terror which reigned within him, and he crept further beneath the overhanging rock. All this time, his regiment was led on by its Lieutenant Colonel, for the sil- very haired commander of the regiment had fallen early in the charge made to protect the battery, and now lay upon the sloping hillside utterly oblivious to all the sounds of war. Everywhere in the thickest of the fight they rushed, privates as well as officers, covering them- selves with glory and honor. During a lull in the conflict, the shattered parts of the command pulled itself together, and then it was first able to realize the loss. Many brave men had gone down in the charge, and as Private Wil- liams was among the missing in his company, it IOO ANDREW BENTLEY. was supposed he was either dead or had been taken prisoner. But how was it going with our boys in the neighboring regiment? The gallant Sixty Penna., had come in for its full share of the battle. Andrew Bentley had gone wherever his regiment went, not a soldier in his company knew him to falter, always acting with the same calm precision. His escape from the rain of bullets seemed mi- raculous, for comrades had fallen upon his right and his left, either dead or badly wounded. It was after the roar of battle had ceased that Andrew met with quite an adventure. In the dusk of the eve- ning, he was looking over that part of the field where his regiment had participated, in hopes that if he found any of his wounded comrades, he could render them some assistance. It was in the fulfillment of this labor of love that Andrew came across one of his mess-mates badly wounded. The poor fellow begged for a drink of water; but Andrew having given all the water in his canteen to a rebel officer whom he had found mortally wounded, he was obliged to visit a brook which ran at the foot of the hill in order to replenish his store. So taking the canteen of his wounded comrade, which was also empty, he proceeded to ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. IOI refill them. As he was wending his way back up the steep hillside he noticed an overhanging por- tion of rock, underneath which he fancied he saw some portion of a uniform. He continued on his way back to the wounded soldier, and after giving him a draught of water and propping him up against a fallen tree, he placed the soldier's canteen where he could conveniently reach it. He then slung his own drinking vessel across his shoulder, and taking his musket, made his way back to the rock, under which he had seen something that had aroused suspicion. Placing his musket against the boulder, he stooped down and peered under it. "Some poor unfortunate who has been wounded and crawled in here to die/' he murmured to himself. "And a Union soldier, too/' as he caught sight of the por- tion of the limb clothed in blue. "Possibly he may not be dead and may need assistance," and with this, Andrew seized hold of that portion exposed and gave a strong pull. But the body did not yield, for the supposed wounded man had taken a firm hold upon a projecting part of the rock, and was doing his best to resist a withdrawal. "Must be wedged in pretty tight," muttered Andrew, so taking a fresh hold and throwing his strength into 1O2 ANDREW BENTLEY. the effort, he gave a vigorous tug, when to his sur- prise (the incumbent's hold giving way), out came the body with so much suddenness that Andrew relaxing his hold staggered backward down the hill and ere he was aware he turned a backward somersault over a log that lay in his way. He hastily regained his feet to find the sol- dier, whom he had so forcibly extracted, standing with the musket he had lately placed against the rock, in the position of charging bayonets. Their recognition was mutual. "What! Henry Williams! as I live!" exclaimed Andrew. "Take that!" cried the infuriated Henry, who, goaded to desperation, and seeing his rival un- armed, made a vicious thrust with the bayonet at the breast of the man before him. Andrew made a backward motion and again a second time, per- formed a retrograde movement over the log be- hind him. The fall this time no doubt saved his life, for not meeting with any resistance and impelled for- ward by his own movement, the hill at that place being quite steep, Henry plouted forward, going over the same log, falling heavily upon Andrew, while the musket slipping from his hands, went sliding down the steep decline. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 1 03 And now took place a struggle in the wooded slope back of Cemetery Hill no historian has ever yet recorded, in a description of that famous battle. It was a struggle for the supremacy. Not with the usual implements of war, but a pitting of mus- cle against muscle. Andrew realizing full well the murderous intent of his adversary, at once grappled with him, and over and over they rolled down the hillside, now Henry having Andrew on his back, and in a few seconds it was vice-versa, for both were powerful men, though if there was any advantage it lay with Andrew ; but Henry was nerved to desperation, for he had learned of the death of the spy, and had heard he had made a dy- ing confession, and he felt that no doubt Andrew was aware of his perfidy. The struggle was a short one, but fierce while it lasted. It was a grappling of each other's throats in silence. No flash of powder or noise of explo- sion. And thus they continued until well nigh down the incline, when fortune seemed to favor our hero. A huge oak coming in their way arrested the progress of their continuous revolutions, and Andrew being uppermost took a quick advantage of his contestant by delivering him a telling blow upon the temple, which rendered Henry for the IO4 ANDREW BENTLEY. time " hers du combat? Then Andrew hastily tearing the strap from his canteen, he pinioned his opponent's hands securely behind his back, and awaited his return to consciousness. It was not long before his vanquished opponent opened his eyes and glared up into the face of his rival with a look of intense hatred. { "So this is the way you fight the battles for the preservation of our glorious Union?" said Andrew, with some show of feeling. Henry glared sullen- ly at his foe, but made no reply. "Get up, you cowardly dog !" said Andrew, and stooping he laid hold of Henry and assisted him to his feet, with no gentle hand. Then keeping a firm grip upon his man, they slowly ascended the hill. Andrew, after securing possession of his mus- ket, marched his captive over to where the officer commanding Henry's regiment had improvised an impromptu headquarters. He saluted him, and relating in brief, how he had found his prisoner, he turned him over to the officer, who promptly order- ed Henry to be placed under arrest, until he had more time to give a consideration of his case. Then inviting Andrew to a seat beside him upon a fallen tree, he Heard his story more in detail, while Hen- ry was marched off to where some Confederate prisoners were kept under a strong guard. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. 1O$ Andrew, after finishing his story, took his leave of the officer, and made his way to the side of the wounded friend from whom he had now been ab- sent for some time. He finally reached his friend, only to find that another brave spirit had gone out with the closing hours of the day's conflict. He tenderly composed the limbs of the dead soldier, writing his name, company and regiment upon a card, which he pinned to his blouse, then spreading his blanket over him, with a sad heart proceeded to look up the burial squad. As our hero made his way back to his comrades, he could not help drawing a comparison that was far from being a pleasant one. First his thoughts dwelt upon the gallant soul just passed away in the prime of life, before he could learn of the result of the conflict that was now being waged upon the soil of his own native State. Then he thought of that other son of the Keystone State, who had shown such dastardly cowardice at a time when valor was so much needed. The battle was resumed the next day along the slopes of Cemetery Ridge, which to this day shows evidence of how they fought and fell. In the afternoon at the close of one of the most IO6 ANDREW BENTLEY. gigantic artillery duels history has ever recorded, that famous charge of Pickett's Division was made, led on by the intrepid Longstreet. Other writers have graphically described it. All we know is that onward they marched, while "Cannon in front of them volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell." but all without avail. Stannards' Vermont Bri- gade was there in the center to meet them and like the "Green Mountain Boys" of old, they stood their ground. Over on their left, Hancock, "The Superb" stood like a lion at bay. While on the right the gallant Hays and Coulter, with a determined front met the enemy's advance. It was here the old Sixty regiment in which Andrew Bentley and his comrades from N served, performed prodigies of valor. The conflict ended with the close of day, and Lee with the crushed remnant of a once glorious army made his way back toward the Potomac, leaving behind the flower of the South, for thous- ands had laid down their lives in the vain attempt to take the crest of Cemetery Ridge and the heights of Round Top. We cannot refrain at this point from a brief ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. IO? reference to the master hand that held the reins of battle on the Union side. We refer to the unostentatious Meade, whose powers of generalship were pitted against the most notable general of all the entire Confedera- cy. Only a short time before this memorable bat- tle he had succeeded to that post in which Hooker, Burnside and Pope had failed, and in which Mc- Clelland had achieved but a doubtful and checkered success. His well seasoned advice faithfully car- ried out, won for him the battle. True, it cost the life of the gallant Reynolds in the wood back of Seminary Ridge, and that of the heroic Vincent and Weed, on the heights of Round Top, while Hancock defending the onslaught against Cemetery Ridge, received the wound which almost cost him his life, and the brave Sickles left a leg on the battlefield, besides a countless throng of others, just as brave in battle as their superiors. Notwithstanding his admirable support, this was one battle in which the commander-in-chief led his troops in person, and in no other battle of the war was there such a loss of high ranking officers. No less than four being killed outright, and as high as twelve receiving wounds, of those serving on the Union side. IO8 ANDREW BENTLEY. Critics have censured Meade for not ordering an immediate pursuit of Lee. He did not deem it best to be too precipitate, as his army was worn and weary. For almost a fortnight they had done nothing else but march and fight, and the soldiers had in the meantime but little opportunity to rest and refresh the inner man. Then again the dead of both armies had to be interred. It was during this period following the battle that time was found to investigate the conduct of Henry Williams during the conflict. A court mar- tial was convened, and Henry was brought before it. Andrew related how he found the recreant soldier but said little of his dastardly attempt upon his life. He even refrained from having made pub- lic the affair upon the picket line only a few short months before, and the part Henry played in it. But most of those who comprised the court martial knew of Henry's unsoldierly qualities, his pretended illness in the hospital, and with his present show of cowardice, they concluded the Union army was better without such soldiers. So, after a severe reprimand, he was dismissed from the ranks. A wag of a soldier, who was somewhat of an artist, la- belled a large placard with the words, "Best cure for Roomatix." They pinned it upon his back, ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. and to the music of the tune, "When Johnny comes marching home again," the boys all joining in singing the tune, with a change of words, "When Henry comes sneaking home again," Henry Wil- liams was drummed out of camp. It was with an increased desire for revenge that Henry returned to his home, and took his place again behind the counter in his father's store. He had vainly hoped his rather inglorious con- duct would be kept from reaching the ears of the inhabitants of N , but in this he was doomed to disappointment, for little by little, it leaked out, and the youth of the village learning of the title he had acquired in the army, addressed him as "Private Roomatix," Walter Bentley being foremost among the number, which so incensed Henry that he re- solved at once that he would show his power over the Bentley's. He therefore called upon his attorney with whom he had left the mortgage against the Bent- ley estate, and ordered an immediate foreclosure. He chuckled to himself as he pictured the con- sternation that would reign in the home of An- drew's parents, and the chagrin of the impudent Walter. But imagine his surprise when after a few days, he called upon the attorney to see how HO ANDREW BENTLEY. matters had progressed, to have that gentleman hand him a bag of gold, remarking that he had served the proper notice upon Farmer Bentley, who had called the day following, tendered the gold, which being sufficient to meet the claim, and finding everything correct and properly signed, he had surrendered the papers to the old gentleman. Henry's face evinced rage and disappointment, and he thoughtlessly blurted out, "Why in all com- mon sense didn't you force him to a sale?" The old lawyer's lips curled with scorn, and he replied with sarcasm, "My dear sir, the best of common sense as you term it, suggested but one thing for me to do. Accept his gold and surren- der the document." Henry finding himself thwarted, and seeing no further recourse, quietly pocketed the money, and paying the attorney for his services, made his way back home, all the time in a quandary as to how Farmer Bentley came into possession of so much money. He did not know that Andrew's father had so true a friend in the rich Judge Preston, who had furnished the necessary amount, taking his neigh- bor's simple recognizance to hold against its pay- ment. ON TO GETTYSBURG COWARDICE. Ill So again Henry Williams found himself de- feated in his plans. But in due time a strange and unexpected occurrence threw Andrew Bentley in his power, and permitted him for a time to believe that he would be able to at last have a revenge upon his rival. 112 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER VII. IN SEARCH OF APPLE-JACK. T was a short time after the Union army had returned to Virginia, and was recuperating from the effects of the battle of Gettysburg that two of the characters in our story met with an adventure followed by an experience which both remembered for a long time. The camp of the Sixty Pennsylania Vol- unteers was in the neighborhood of Warrenton Junction, and for several weeks there had been lit- tle or no activity in that part of the army, and the soldier boys were beginning to long for some new excitement. It was near the close of a sultry day in August that Alpheus Forrest sought out his friend Andrew Bentley, whom he found in his tent engaged in let- ter writing, and urged that he accompany him on an expedition down the Warrenton pike. Alpheus had in some way learned of an old far- mer living down that way, who had stored in his cellar some rare old apple-jack. "Besides," said the IN SEARCH OF APPLE JACK. 113 young soldier, "I learn that the old man has several entertaining daughters, and I'll be blamed if I wouldn't like to rest my eyes on some purty gals once. 'Twould relieve the everlasting monotony of blue coats and brass buttons." "Yes," replied Andrew, "But perhaps they don't care much about entertaining Yankee sol- diers? You know some of these Virginia belles are quite bon-ton in their manner and would consider it beneath their dignity to recognize one of Lin- coln's hirelings, as you know they often call us." "I am willing to brave the lion in his den, the Douglas in his hall," said Alpheus in a tragic man- ner, recalling a portion of an old school declama- tion. "Then again I have heard that the old F. F. V. has Union proclivities, but of this I am not sure. However, all we want is a taste of his old apple-jack and an opportunity to rest our eyes upon feminine loveliness. You know the 'cat can at least look at the king.' " "I think you are growing sarcastic," gravely replied Andrew. "But we need a pass to get out- side our lines." "I am willing to brave the lion in his den, the piece of paper signed by the adjutant of the regi- ment, giving permission for Sergeant Forrest and 8 114 ANDREW BENTLEY. one, to pass the guard between the hours of six P. M. and six A. M. "All right, comrade, I'll be with you as soon as I finish this letter," and hastily adding a postscript, he signed, sealed and addressed it, placed it in the breast pocket of his blouse intend- ing to mail it in the morning. The reader will be better able to judge whether that letter ever reached the fair Annie Preston after the perusal of the following chapters. They took no arms with them except an old Derringer pistol, which Andrew had brought from home. This he thrust into his pocket, remarking as he did so that one should not forget to go armed while traveling on hostile ground. Alpheus laughed at this, and said he did not an- ticipate meeting any of the enemy as he had heard that their advance pickets were above fifteen miles away. He claimed the farm house they proposed to visit was only about two miles down the road, and they could not possibly miss the place. They soon passed the Union picket lines and reaching the highway, shaped their steps in the di- rection of the farm house, where they expected to find apple-jack and Southern loveliness. Our young friends both being lovers of music, IN SEARCH OF APPLE-JACK. 11$ were hoping that they might find the ladies of the house, which they proposed visiting, possessing the same taste, and thus be able to pass a very pleasant evening. It was not quite eight o'clock when our friends knocked at the door of the farm house. They fan- cied they heard laughter and music as they ap- proached, but when they ascended the steps that led up to the wide veranda and knocked at the door all noise had ceased. They were almost sure they detected the sound of hurried feet and the closing of a door, then all was silent. Our young friends stood quietly wait- ing, and ere long the sound of footsteps came shuf- fling up to the door, which was flung wide open, and a man whom they presumed to be the owner of the place stood before them. He was a man evidently of three score years or more, whose hair and beard had evidently at one time been of the hue of the raven, but was now of a silvery sheen. His hair fell in profusion upon his shoulders, while his beard would have been an ornament to his face had it not been disfigured by a dirty yellowish streak reaching from his lips the entire length, the result of a continuous deposit of tobacco juice. The -eyes of the aged patriarch before them had a foxy Il6 ANDREW BENTLEY. expression, and never rested long on any one ob- ject. He was attired in an old smoking jacket, much the worse for wear, while his feet were en- cased in a pair of badly run down slippers. It was evident that like many of the would-be aristocracy of the "Old Dominion" an alarming degeneracy existed. His voice had apparently a ring of wel- come in it as he saluted them. "Howdy boys? Howdy ! Be you out on a lark?" Our two soldier boys bowed politely, and An- drew acting as spokesman replied, "My dear sir, we are out on a little pleasure jaunt, and hearing that you had some good cheer in your house, we thought we would make you a short call." "That's right, boys, jist step in and make yer- sels to hum, my house is always open to the Yanks," and as he said this he led the way and ush- ered them into a large dimly lighted parlor. As our friends entered they were both pleased to notice that in one corner stood an old fashioned piano, open as though it had been lately used. The sight of this instrument caused a thrill of delight to come into the heart of each of the soldier boy visi- tors, for the old square piano recalled visions of home, and it had been many months since they IN SEARCH OF APPLE-JACK. 1 1/ had been permitted to listen to the sweet tones of an instrument of this kind. Their host bid them be seated, saying he would go and hunt up the gals, and with this he left them. Alpheus could not refrain from going to the instrument and seating himself upon the stool ran his fingers back and forth over the keys, at last dropping into the air of "Swanee River" which he . played soft and low, showing a remarkably delicate touch of finger as he manipulated the keys. While Alpheus was thus engaged, Andrew was taking a quiet survey of the surroundings. He had somehow or other a feeling that the room had been occupied by some one prior to their coming, but why seemingly so deserted now, he could not understand. He noticed that the chairs were in such a posi- tion as to indicate that they had recently been oc- cupied. He arose from his seat and walked over to where Alpheus was playing, and commenced to leaf over the music that was lying loose upon the instrument. While he was thus engaged, he felt almost sure he saw the shadow of a man passing the window, that looked out upon the veranda, but then he thought it might likely enough be the farmer, and 1 1 8 ANDREW BENTLEY. so for the moment gave it no further thought. But a few moments later, he was positive that he heard the sounds of galloping hoofs fast receding in the distance. Alpheus had heard and seen nothing to arouse his suspicions. He had only eyes and ears for the music before him. Being an enthusiastic lover of the sublime art, and no mean performer himself, he was lost to his surroundings as he deftly touched the keys bringing out the sweet harmony of sound. He finally drifted into a sweet melody never too old to bear a repetition, that of "Home Sweet Home" and into the heart of each, came at that moment an intense longing for the dear old home so far away. The music was brought to a sudden termination by the entrance of the host, accompanied by three young ladies, and at once, without ceremony or any attempt at etiquette, he blurted out, "Gals, here's a couple of Yanks come to give us a call. Boys, durn me if I know yer names, but 'taint no matter; these two girls," pointing to the tallest of the trio, "are my daughters, while this little lass" laying his hand upon the head of the smallest and apparently youngest of the three, "is my niece from old Kaintuck, and a right smart sort of a Secesh'r she be tew, so boys look'ee out, 'er she'll spike yer IN SEARCH OF APPLEJACK. guns," and as he said this, he gave a significant wink to his two daughters, which did not escape the sharp eyes of Andrew. The ladies made a graceful courtesy, while our two friends bowed low to the ladies, Andrew quiet- ly remarking that it was a rare pleasure to meet with those of the gentler sex amid so much war and blood shed. The taller of the two sisters replied that in these days of confusion and strife it was very pleasant to spend an evening with callers without an interrup- tion, and again Andrew noticed a significant look pass betwixt father and daughter. The two young ladies whom the host classed as his daughters, bore a strong resemblance to their father. While not considered handsome, they were both comely girls ; not richly attired, for fine dresses at that stage of the war were not to be thought of by the average Southern belle, but they were neatly attired, and withal, attractive j-oung ladies. The one designated as "My niece from Kain- tuck," evinced that she came from the State re- nowned for fair women. We will not go into a description of her beauty, but simply say she was a young lady worthy the admiration of any man t I2O ANDREW BENTLEY. At least this was the opinion of our young friend Alpheus, who had not yet surrendered to the charms of any one of the opposite sex. Although he was not sure of being able to withstand a long siege from the beauty of the sparkling eyes which the young lady possessed. "Ya-as, we've seen purty stirrin' times," broke in the old gentleman at the close of the remark made by the daughter to Andrew's compliment. "" Tears we people here in old Virginny hev more'n our share of fitin' and radin' of armies, than ennywhere else fur's I kin see," and he drew from his pocket a long twist of black chewing tobacco and opening a pocket knife cut off an enormous large bite, which he deliberately placed in his mouth and began to chew vigorously. "Hev a chew?" and he proffered the weed to his two call- ers. Neither Andrew nor Alpheus being addicted to the habit of chewing politely declined. "Wall, so much left fur me to nibble at, I am not a heavy hand at the bizness, only chew enough ter allow me to spit clear," and with this he drew forth an old spittoon from a hidden place in the corner, and de- posited therein a goodly quantity of saliva strong- ly impregnated with tobacco juice, and wiping his beard, resumed his seat, while Andrew glanced IN SEARCH OF APPLE-JACK. 121 over at Alpheus, with a look upon his face as much as to say : "How about being able to spit clear?" "Have you had many soldiers about here?" in- quired Andrew, for he wished to hear what the old man would say on the subject. "Ya-as, consid'able; one day 'tis the Confeds, and next day 'tis the Yanks, and 'twixt 'em it keeps a man busy to hev a roof over his head." "I trust the Union soldiers have always re- spected the rights of your home," said Andrew. "Ya-as, purty much so, but I tell yer ther's sum white livered sojers in the Union army as well as the Confedr't army that don't respect yer rights enny more'n nuthin. Now there were some fellers here in the spring, and one of 'em fine enough lookin' to be the gentleman he wa'nt thought he'd play smart on me an' turned on all the spigots in my barrels of apple-jack, jist a little, yer see, so I wouldn't notice 'fore he left, and I swan ter grash- us, if I hadn't went down in that cellar purty soon arter he and his crowd left, my hull cellar 'twould hev been swimmin' in apple-jack. Now I count that a mighty mean piece of work, tryin' to spile what yer can't drink yersel'. If he comes back here, I'll jist sit ole Tige' on him, and let him give the mean coot a shakin' up. Guess he must aller s been a 122 ANDREW BENTLEY. mean sort of 'er-a-cuss, fer he'd a mark upon his forehead, that showed somebody at one time tried tu git even with him." "I hope he did not belong to our regiment," said Andrew. "I dunno as he did. He had a figger wun, and an o, and a figger five on his cap." "Was he of stout build, with hair inclined to curl?" said Andrew. "Ya-as, jist such a feller as that, had jet black eyes." Andrew looked at his comrade and uttered the single word, "Williams." Alpheus nodded. They both had recognized in the object of their host's derision, one of their fellow townsmen once serving in the One Hundred and Pennsylvania. "Wall, boys, try an' n'joy yersels," and he arose to leave the room. Pausing in the door way, he remarked, "Reckon there won't likely be any more of you-uns down this way to-night?" "Why, I hardly think so, although men are get- ting permission every evening to leave camp, but why do you ask?" said Andrew. "Oh- Why !-'er swan ter grashus if I kin jist tell, guess I must be gettin' inquisertive. Good-night, boys, try an' 'njoy yersels," and he was about to IN SEARCH OF APPLE-JACK. 12$ take his departure when Alpheus who had hitherto remained silent, just then thinking of the prime ob- ject of their visit, sprang from his seat towards the old gentleman and whispered a few words in his ear. "Gosh hang it, ya'as, sutinly, give us yer can- teen and I'll fill it fer yer, and ye'll find it hangin' out here by the door when ye git ready to go." And he took Alpheus' canteen and departed. That was the last time Alpheus was permitted to look upon his old canteen, from which he had taken many a refreshing drink, and ofttimes in the days that followed, did he long for a draught from it, but we must not anticipate. 124 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER VIII. TRAPPED. ANNOT one of you gentlemen play for us?" Now spoke up the second daugh- ter, who heretofore had not attempted to enter into the conversation. "Oh, yes, do !" added her companion, the one whom the host had introduced as his niece. "I am sure I heard some very sweet music before we came in. Play for me, 'My Old Kentucky Home' please?" and she cast upon Alpheus a most be- witching look. The poor fellow felt a quickening of the flow of blood to his heart and he blushed unconsciously. Alpheus felt, that (to use the expression of the old gentleman) his "guns were already spiked," and just then he would have done anything in his pow- er to please her. So ravishing may be the glance from the eyes of a lovely woman. He at once complied and going to the piano, seated himself and struck up that melody ever dear to one of the "Blue grass State." The young lady TRAPPED. 125 for whom the melody was being played, now arose and stood by the side of Alpheus, who, feeling the magnetism of her presence, and with the desire to please, threw his whole heart into the execution of the music before him, which soon caused the other two ladies who had entered into a conversation with Andrew, to pause and listen to the sweet strains Alpheus was eliciting from the keys of the old piano. The spirit of the girl from "Old Kain- tuck" was aroused and soon she besought Andrew and her companions to join her in singing a few stanzas of the old song, which they accordingly did, and soon the farm house resounded with the har- mony of their voices. Andrew possessed a good tenor voice, while Alpheus had always been consid- ered quite a hand at singing bass, and soon the young ladies perceived that their callers were pos- sessed of more than ordinary ability. The song was no sooner finshed, than the elder of the two daughters claimed that now they must sing "My Old Virginia Low-lands," which was granted, and at its close Andrew remarked that as he couldn't recall any particular song adapted to his native State, he would suggest the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner." At once the ladies protested against singing that, as being too old and stale. 1 26 ANDREW BENTLEY. Our hero felt his cheeks burn for a moment, with the sudden rush of blood, but suppressing his feeling he said, "Well, how will Dixie suit you?" This met with a ready response by all three and soon they were declaring in the spirit of song "That in Dixie's land I'll take my stand," etc. Andrew now felt fully convinced that they were in the home of one whose sympathies lay with the South; but he felt that the evening was passing pleasantly, still he would keep his eyes open for any unexpected event, which came soon enough, for as they were in the midst of "Maryland my Maryland," a clatter was heard out in the yard, and Andrew going to the window peered forth and be- held a small body of troopers, several already dis- mounted. The rising moon was emitting only an uncer- tain light, and Andrew could not clearly make out whether the group outside was Union or Confed- erate. But his doubts were soon set aside by heavy steps being heard upon the veranda and the door quickly thrown open ; when in stalked an offi- cer and four men clad in the gray uniform of the Southern Confederacy. As Andrew looked at his friend, who sat in speechless amazement at the piano, his fingers hav- TRAPPED. 127 ing lost all their cunning, he ejaculated one word, "trapped," but Alpheus could find no voice to re- ply. "Pardon me, ladies/* said the officer, bowing, "I hesitate to interrupt so much enjoyment, but you know interruptions are in order at the present." As he said this he smiled significantly upon the el- der of the farmer's two daughters, and our hero looking in the direction of the lady mentioned, no- ticed a little nod of assent. Then turning to our two discomfited soldiers, the dapper little lieuten- ant said in an authoritative tone, "Gentlemen, consider yourselves prisoners! Please hand over your arms !" There was a perceptible smile upon the faces of the ladies, as Andrew demurely handed over to the officer his old Derringer pistol which the lieuten- ant placed in his belt, while Alpheus held out to him his pocket knife, declaring it was all he was pos- sessed of in the way of a weapon. This the officer politely declined, saying he might need it "to cut his terbacker." At this juncture, the ladies arose and swept gracefully out of the room. The lassie from "Old Kaintuck" paused and, darting a roguish glance at our two friends, said with mock gravity, "I hope, 128 ANDREW BENTLEY. gentlemen, as we sung this evening, that you may take your stand in Dixie's land for many days to come." Then with a bow to the rebel lieutenant, she took her leave. A few minutes later a laugh came ringing out from somewhere up stairs, as the young ladies recalled the capture of their guests, which fell with a discord upon the ear of Alpheus whose dream of bliss had been so rudely interrupted. Andrew and his companion were hurried out- side, where stood waiting a small detachment of cavalry, which proved to belong to that famous organization known as "Stuart's Raiders." A couple of sleepy mules, belonging to the farmer, were pressed into service, and our two friends thus mounted, with the bridle rein of each being se- curely fastened to a ring in the saddle of two of the troopers, the cavalcade set forth in the direction of Culpepper, at which place they arrived as the first faint streaks of light became visible in the Eastern horizon indicative of the coming dawn. Andrew learned from one of their captors, as they rode along, that this was only a small detach- ment sent out upon a reconnoisance ; that they had bivouaced for the night a few miles away from the farm house they had just left, but their command- TRAPPED. 129 ing officer (the lieutenant who rode at the head) having paid a visit to one of the young ladies that evening, was surprised by the coming of two Yan- kee soldiers and slipping away unperceived, had re- gained his command and their capture soon fol- lowed. Everything was now clear to Andrew. The sound of voices as they approached the house ; the hurrying of feet as though some one was hastily leaving; then the condition in which he found the room; the shadow passing the window, and the sound of galloping hoofs, and later the significant remark of the young lady about the pleasure of un- interrupted enjoyment, and the various glances and winks, all having a meaning, and he felt like kicking himself for being so stupid. At his first opportunity he related to Alpheus all that had aroused his suspicions and further what the cavalry trooper told him of how they had learned of their presence at the farm house. But the poor boy seemed utterly in despair, and strongly censured himself when he recalled that it was at his sugges- tion the visit to the farm house was made and, just then, his mind resting upon the object of their call upon the old farmer he broke out afresh: "Con- found it all, Andy, we've got ourselves jugged and in the end missed that blamed apple-jack." 9 I3O ANDREW BENTLEY. "No doubt the honest old 'Union man* will keep it safe until we return from Dixie/' remarked Andrew dryly. "Union man be hanged/' ejaculated Alpheus. "I'll bet anything he's a rank old Secesh at heart, and was tickled to think of our being gobbled up." And as he spoke his voice was full of bitterness. "Wonder why he didn't put in an appearance when the troopers arrived?" "That wouldn't have been policy, comrade," replied Andrew. "He knows the changes that war brings are many and various, and that possibly sometime we might pay him another visit, for yon know you would not object to another look into the bright eyes of 'my niece from Old Kaintuck/ " and he repeated the last few words with the inimit- able drawl of the old F. F. V. "And sure enough, too, you will want to get that canteen of apple- jack." "Yes," replied Alpheus, "and if we ever do, I'm afraid there'll be more than spigots turned in his old apple-jack barrels. There'll be some heads quickly knocked in." "I rather guess we had better first lay our plans to give our escort the good-bye," said Andrew gravely. "I'm sure I have no great desire to TRAPPED. 1 3 1 spend any more time than I can help in their vaunted Dixie Land." They were now approaching a considerable sized camp of mounted men, which turned out to be the main body under command of that noted Con-- federate cavalry leader, General J. E. B. Stuart, and for the first time were favored with a sight of this "Cavalier of the South." They had on battle fields of the past learned of his fighting qualities, and now felt all the more anxious to look upon this great cavalry chieftain. He appeared to be a young man, strongly built, of medium height, with blue eyes and a reddish beard. He wore a blouse and foraging cap with a linen cover called "Havelock" as a protection against the sun. His personal appearance indicated the distin- guishable traits of his character, dash, great strength of will and indomitable energy. Everything about the camp gave evidence of strict military discipline maintained by this Con- federate officer, no doubt adduced from his exper- ience in the United States Army before the out- break of the war. He moved about among his men and officers with a stateliness of bearing equal to a "Knight of the Realm." 132 ANDREW BENTLEY. Our two friends were placed with some other unfortunates wearing the Union blue, and who had been picked up by the different scouting parties. The group with the addition of Andrew and Al- pheus now numbered a score, and arrangements were being made to convey them farther South. While in the camp of Stuart's men, the prison- ers were treated with courtesy, sharing a part of their rations. But the vigilance of their guards never abated, and no opportunity was offered for any to make an escape. Their stay with these dashing troopers proved of short duration, for the day following the arrival of our two friends in the Confederate camp, the entire lot of blue coats were placed under a strong guard and marched down the railroad track until they reached what was known then as Orange County Court House. Here they were loaded into a box car and attached to a passing train were con- veyed by rail to Lynchburg. Arriving there by nightfall, they were ordered out of the car by the guard, who placing them in line, marched the little band up the steep hill lead- ing to the town, and halted in front of a dingy brick structure with heavy iron gratings across the win- dows. This was the public jail of Campbell County TRAPPED. 133 and here our soldier boys were to spend the night. A great crowd of gaping men, boys and women had gathered about the entrance to the jail to get a look at "the poor white Linkun trash," as they designated the little band of prisoners. There were many dusky faces in the crowd and in this part of the on-lookers, (especially those of years) there seemed to rest a look of sadness and sympathy, for many of them realized that these men had left the comforts of home for the battle- field in order that human servitude might forever be abolished. The prisoners were carefully counted as they marched in single file, the entire lot occupying the open corridor of the jail, while at the entrance and also at each barred window a sentry with a loaded musket was stationed. It was here that the guard who accompanied them took their leave, and their present guardians were conscript members of a Georgia regiment, a detachment of which had been stationed there to guard some commissary stores. 134 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER IX. THE ESCAPE. HE little band of unfortunates had been sadly neglected on the journey, not hav- ing partaken of any food since their start in the morning, and then it was only a few hard tack and a cup of coffee, which their guards had captured from Union supplies in their various raids. Therefore it is needless to say that everybody was hungry, and the meager piece of cold corn bread, with a small cup of some question- able soup, was only sufficient to allay the pangs of hunger for a very brief space of time. Soon they felt as if nothing had been served them and ere long the spirit of barter, always pre- dominant in the average soldier, manifested itself. Little groups of blue coats were to be seen gathered at the door and windows, dickering with the guard for something additional to eat. Andrew had in his possession a German silver match safe, with a few matches in it, and this was THE ESCAPE. 135 looked upon with envious eyes by one of the guard. So after a little talk upon the merits of the article in question, it found a resting place in the pocket of the guard, while Andrew received in return a half dozen hard biscuit, a small piece of greasy pork and ten dollars in Confederate money. He readily dis- posed of the biscuit, eating all but two, which he re- served for morning. But how to manage the greasy piece of fat pork was a quandary. He tried to secure a piece of paper to wrap around it but none of his companions were able to accommodate him. Searching his pockets in the vain hope of being able to find some- thing with which to envelope the pork, Andrew drew forth his letter to Annie Preston, which he had placed in his pocket before starting on that ill- timed visit to the farm house, thinking he would mail it the next morning, but now several morn- ings had passed and the letter had not been mailed and what was worse, the prospects of mailing it were very remote. Andrew looked at the missive a few moments, then with a sigh he drew it from its covering and de- liberately wrapped it around his piece of pork. Then tearing the lining from his soldier cap, he folded it around the package and placed it carefully 1 36 ANDREW BENTLEY. down in the pocket of his blouse, intending at the first opportunity to prepare it for eating. He felt that the changes in a soldier's life were many. Little did he think when writing the letter to his sweetheart, that this would be the disposition of it. His comrade Alpheus was the happy possessor of a pair of gold washed sleeve buttons, that brought him in exchange a dozen of cold roast potatoes, a small piece of corn bread, and about two spoonfuls of black molasses called "Sorgum." With these Alpheus satisfied the cravings of hunger, saving half of his potatoes for another meal. Then declaring that if he had only a drink of "Uncle Sam's" black coffee he would feel all right. "How about a drink of the old farmer's apple- jack?" said Andrew, looking at his young compan- ion with an amused smile upon his face. "Oh, go way! Don't tantalize a poor fellow," said Alpheus. "I just want one more opportunity to lay my eyes upon the villianous old proprietor of that apple-jack." "Well, what then?" said Andrew. "Why, I'd make him feel mean enough to crawl into the bung hole of one of his barrels," and Al- pheus tried his best to look fierce and savage. Our two friends sat together a long time con- THE ESCAPE. 137 versing in a low tone. Their principal theme was how to effect an escape, for both had heard ru- mors of the horrid prison pens of the South. It was decided that they would stick closely together and embrace the first opportunity for both to get away, and that one should not go without the other. Alpheus could not refrain from again accusing himself for bringing this trouble upon his friend. But Andrew sought to cheer his comrade saying that it was only the chances that every soldier must take. They found the hard stone floor of the jail the only couch offered them, but they were soldiers, and this did not give them much concern. Being weary from their long ride, they stretched them- selves out side by side, and ere long were far enough away from prison walls, in the pleasant dreams that come to those in the enjoyment of good health. Morning found them refreshed from their slumber and ready for breakfast which came at an early hour, consisting of a small tin of some substitute for coffee, and a piece of corn bread such as they had the night before, and a small scrap of cooked bacon. Our two friends placed their allowance to- gether, Andrew sharing his remaining biscuits with 138 ANDREW BENTLEY. Alpheus, and receiving in return the half of his comrade's potatoes saved from the previous eve- ning. Their table was the floor of the prison, and placing their food down before them, ate as only hungry men can, and soon everything eatable had disappeared from sight. At an early hour in the forenoon, an officer came to the jail and issued an order for the prison- ers to be brought forth. Accordingly they were at once assembled in the public thoroughfare in front of the jail building surrounded by their guard, and thus they stood patiently waiting in the hot sun till long past the noon-time hour.. Then their guards were changed and they were marched back to the railroad and embarked in an old dingy look- ing passenger car that was attached to the rear end of a long, heavily laden freight train, which, after some little delay on account of the engine not hav- ing enough steam, they started on their journey farther South, making a fair rate of speed but los- ing much time by occasional stops to repair some portion of the machinery of the engine that had given out, and to discharge a part of their freight at way-stations along the road. A small portion of the guard occupied places on various parts of the train, but the greater num- ber occupied the coach with their prisoners. THE ESCAPE. 139 The doors of the coach were locked and the guards vigilant, so that little chance for escape pre- sented itself. But still our friends kept a close watch intend- ing to be ready if opportunity should offer for them to leave the train, although they could not help feeling depressed as they realized that every revolution of the iron wheels carried them nearer some prison pen. The other prisoners maintained a sullen silence. In fact, during the entire journey, there had been little intercourse or exchange of conversation. No doubt many like our two friends were deeply cha- grined at the misfortune that had befallen them. The rebel guards were typical Georgians, lean, lank and hollow eyed, with sallow skin and un- kempt hair. Their general appearance indicated that they were not surfeited with their allowance of rations. We do not say that there were no exceptions to this class, for we know Georgia sent some fine looking men into the army, but the major part of those who were conscripted were largely as we have described. They proved, however, effective as guards, and in this capacity filled the place of abler men. I4O ANDREW BENTLEY. Evidently what these men lacked in rations, they made up in the use of tobacco, for there seemed to be a perpetual motion of their jaws, only pausing while they rolled the quid around in their mouth preparatory to taking a new start, while they constantly expectorated their filthy saliva anywhere and everywhere, not infrequently squirt- ing it down the neck of some poor unfortunate pris- oner, which act never failed to elicit a laugh from those of the guard who witnessed it, while the ob- ject of their insult was obliged to quietly suppress his indignation. These doughty warriors wore a mixed uniform of butternut and gray, much the worse for wear, and in painful contrast with the bright, clean blue of their prisoners, many of them having uniforms still new and clean. The arms carried by the guards were mostly muskets of the old Springfield pattern. The afternoon was slowly wearing away, and the stomachs of the little party of prisoners were beginning to clamor for some kind of food; For the morning meal had been eaten early, and at the time was not very substantial, and so limited in quantity that it was impossible to reserve a portion for any other meal. THE ESCAPE. 14! The guards without any apparent regard for the feeling of their prisoners, brought forth from their haversacks some pieces of corn bread called "pone," and proceeded to munch it, washing it down with the draughts of water which they pro- cured from a tank in one end of the car. This supply soon being exhausted, the unfortu- nates under their care were thus deprived of even quenching their thirst, but what did these heartless guards care; anything was good enough for a Yank. Hunger makes the majority of men restless and irritable, and this feeling soon became manifest in the car among the Union men. They would fre- quently change their seats and make visits to the empty water tank, look in and finding it empty, come away with a sullen discontented look upon their faces. They would repeat their visit in a short time, apparently forgetful of the known fact that the tank was empty. This restlessness alarmed the guard, and sev- eral more of their conpanions were brought into the car and stationed at the door. They evi- dently anticipated an outbreak, but what could a few helpless prisoners do against almost an equal number of guards with loaded muskets in their hands. 142 ANDREW BENTLEY. But it was evident that a crisis was approach- ing for the restlessness of the men increased, as the pangs of hunger became more poignant. The light of day was fading out and the shades of night beginning to fall. The car was poorly equipped with light, having but two dingy lamps, one in front and rear, emitting only a sickly yellow flame barely sufficient to enable the guards to make out their prisoners ; and to add to the unsatis- factory illumination, the atmosphere in the coach was made more hazy by several of the prisoners who, having found a few crumbs of tobacco in their pockets, had drawn forth their old pipes, filled them and, after borrowing all the matches they possibly could from the guard, they soon set their pipes a-going, causing Alpheus(who didn't indulge in the use of the weed in any way) to remark that if his old knife was only sharp enough he would readily cut his share of the tobacco smoke out, and ask permis- sion of the guard to toss it out of the window. The air within the car was growing thick and hot, for the afternoon had been quite warm, and the guard would allow no window to be raised for fear of an attempt to escape on the part of some prisoner. Thus another comfort was cruelly de- nied the suffering men. THE ESCAPE. 143 Finally the officer in charge of the guard de- clared he could stand it no longer, and ordered the men to cease smoking. He also stated that each man must keep his seat, and emphasized his com- mand with an oath, declaring he would bayonet the first man who dared to disobey his orders. The men in blue knew quite well that the officer would gladly avail himself of an opportunity to put his threat into effect, if for no other purpose than to boast of having bayoneted a hated Yankee. Yet there were men in that car who, without any means of defense, except those supplied by na- ture, were ready to defy this boasting braggart. The train stopped long enough at Danville to discharge some freight, and take on a fresh supply of coal and water, and then under a higher pressure of steam and possibly a lighter load, went daslimg off in the darkness in the direction of Salisbury, North Carolina, as this was the place to which the prisoners were destined, Andrew having overheard the conductor shouting to the station agent at Danville, that they had a car of miserable Yankee soldiers they meant to dump off at that place. Our hero, having some knowledge of the coun- try, knew the distance from Danville to Salisbury was not great, and the train under the increased 144 ANDREW BENTLEY. rate of speed it was now making, would not be many hours in making the run between the two places. He felt that once within a rebel stockade, their chances of escape would materially lessen, and that if they meant to do anything toward making an es- cape they would have to act quickly. He again conferred with Alpheus, who occupied the seat with him. But cudgel their brains all they could, no avenue of possible escape seemed to present itself, for at least four men stood at each door of the car, while others were interspersed along in the aisle. True, an exit through the window might be at- tempted, but the result would likely prove disas- trous in the presence of so vigilant a guard. But ofttimes in our lives when we are in an ex- tremity, and sheer desperation stares us in the face, the unlooked for happens. This was the case with our two despairing friends. An event occurred which offered to the weary, hungry prisoners an opportunity to escape. The train was of considerable length, and the car containing the guards with their prisoners, be- ing attached to the extreme rear end, while run- ning at a high rate of speed, and the road full of THE ESCAPE. 145 curves, naturally swung heavily from side to side, at times almost leaving the rails. It was while rounding one of these sharp curves in the darkness that a loud report was heard, and the car swerved from side to side like a drunken man, then toppled over and went crashing down an embankment, soon lay bottom upward amid the reeds and marshes of a stretch of swampy land that at that place, closely bordered the railroad, while the train, thundering on, was soon lost to sight and sound. "The unlocked for" was the breaking of a coup- ling; not the modern connections much in vogue in the present day, but the old style link and pin. The noise of the departing train was followed by cries, groans and curses, with an occasional sound of breaking glass, all coming from the im- prisoned occupants of the up-turned car. Very few in the car were at first able to grasp the situation or understand what had happened. Few, if any, had escaped without some injury, and some were badly hurt, judging from the groans that were heard in the darkness. They were all enveloped in "Cimmerian" gloom, the lamps hav- ing been extinguished. Andrew had been sitting with his arm thrown 10 146 ANDREW BENTLEY. across the shoulders of his young comrade convers- ing with him when the accident happened, and very naturally as the position of the car changed he convulsively gripped the shoulders of Alpheus, who immediately threw up his arms grasping a firm hold of Andrew, and thus in a close embrace they found themselves, when after a moment's daze, they regained consciousness. Andrew was quick to realize their situation, and his first thought was of freedom. They knew not what injuries they had received, and at first each could not tell the condition of the other. They could distinguish above the cries and groans, the curses of some of the guard as they vainly at- tempted to find a light. It is here we have an ex- ample of the effect of small things. The fact that those indulging in their pipes had about exhausted the little stock of matches possessed by the guards, and this to a large extent prevented them from readily obtaining a light, and thus make an at- tempt to escape more difficult. Every now and again the crash of broken glass evinced that some one was struggling to make an exit from the car. Andrew realized that they must now act, and act quickly. So he set about to examine himself and see THE ESCAPE. 147 whether he had the use of his arms and legs, which to his great delight he found to be all right, al- though he suffered some from the nervous shock he had received by the overturning of the car. He next sought to learn the condition of his friend and he shook Alpheus by the shoulder, whis- pering in his ear as loud as he dared, for he did not wish to attract the attention of the guard. "Alpheus, hey Alpheus! Are you injured?" "Don't know, rather guess I am. But what has happened? What's wrong?" came in a dazed tone. "Keep still! Only see if you can move. We must now try to make our escape, and quickly, too. The car has broken away from the train and gone over an embankment, and now is our opportunity before they bring a light. Do try and see if you can move just a little, so we can get out of the car." Alpheus made an attempt to rise but sank back with a groan, declaring he could not stand upon his feet for he believed his left leg must be broken off at the ankle. "Can you not hold yourself up against the win- dow if I should assist you?" "I'll do my best," said the plucky young soldier. Andrew first tried to move the sash of the win- 148 ANDREW BENTLEY. (low, but the car lying in a twist, he found it resisted all his efforts. Determined to lose no more time, he dashed his foot through the window sending the glass flying in all directions. The cool air came rushing in, fanning his heated brow and adding new strength to his sinews. "There goes another Yank," shouted a guard in the darkness, as the noise of flying glass fell on his ears. "Why the don't somebody strike a light?" Andrew quickly grasped his comrade and dragged him up to the window. He then hastily made his exit through the open space, going feet foremost. He found the ground only a short dis- tance away and as soon as his feet rested upon "terra-firma," he turned, and reaching in, seized Alpheus by the shoulders and carefully drew him through the window. The young soldier at once sank down helpless,, for the pain in his ankle was excruciating. An idea had seized upon Andrew, and he was about to re- enter the car, when Alpheus observing what his companion was about to do, at once begged him ta desist. "I'll only be gone a minute," said Andrew; "I THE ESCAPE. 149 want to get one of those muskets for you know we are unarmed." "Oh! comrade, don't leave me," implored the injured man. Andrew's heart was touched. He debated a moment in his mind whether he should make the attempt to secure a musket. But the matter was decided for him by some one striking a light in the car. Stooping down, he quickly drew his comrade across his back and carefully made his way through the tangled brush of the swamp, every now and again making a mis-step and sinking over shoe-top in the dark, slimy mud. But on he struggled, his one great desire was to get away as far as possible from the hated guards. By this time he could hear loud voices, and he rightly judged that some of the guards had found their way outside of the car, so with increased en- ergy he plodded on. Finally growing faint, and allowing his companion to slide to the ground, he leaned against a tree to regain his breath, for he felt weak from his long fast. After a brief rest he again applied himself to his task, and carried his friend farther into the deep recess of the wood. He had reached higher ground now and more firmer footing. 1 50 ANDREW BENTLEY. At last, finding the trunk of a fallen tree lying in his path, he placed Alpheus upon it and taking a seat by his side, he again rested and listened. Away in the distance they heard the whistle of an approaching engine. They concluded it was the train returning for the missing car, and in this con- jecture they were correct, although this was not learned until some time after the war. The trainmen not realizing that anything had happened to the rear of the train, allowed it to pursue its course until they had covered some five or six miles, and then the loss of the car was dis- covered by a mere accident. The engineer having run his train on a siding to allow the up train (shortly due) to pass, the con- ductor, lantern in hand, was making an examina- tion of his train, when to his surprise he found the passenger coach that had been attached to the rear of his train, missing. The engineer was hastily notified, who, leaving a brakeman to signal the train almost due, detached his engine and tender and taking the conductor on board, ran out on the main track and crowding on steam, reversed his lever and hurried backward in search of the missing car. By this time the moon was beginning to show her face above the ridge of THE ESCAPE. -J5I the hills, and objects could be seen at quite a dis- tance along the track, so they sped rapidly along, finally arriving at the scene where the coach parted from the train. They stopped and looked down with surprise. ANDREW BENTLKT. CHAPTER X. A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. HE approach of the coming engine was listened to with nervous trepidation by our two friends as they sat together in the dark wood, and when it came to a stop, they were more anxious than ever to put as great a distance between themselves and their enemies as was possible. So again taking Alpheus upon his back, Andrew toiled bravely onward. The rising moon partly lit up the dark forest, throwing long shadows from the tall pines. An- drew felt his strength leaving him, but while he was almost ready to sink to the ground, he still kept on his way. At last he felt he could go no farther, so placing his comrade carefully on the ground, he stood and wiped the perspiration that was stream- ing from his brow. Alpheus insisted on trying to walk, so after resting a few moments, Andrew assisted him to rise, and the young soldier leaning heavily on the shoul- der of his stalwart friend, made a painful attempt A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 153 to move forward. But Alpheus found he was mis- taken ; he could make but slow progress, and then only with great suffering, so they rested again. Happily, Andrew perceived a dense growth of underbrush near by, and leaving his comrade's side, he broke a pasage into it, and finding this a fairly good retreat and somewhat protected from prying eyes, after scraping some dead leaves to- gether, he returned to his friend, and tenderly pick- ing him up, bore him into the thicket and placed Alpheus upon the couch improvised for him. The young soldier looked up into the face of his comrade and tears stood in his eyes, while his voice was tremulous as he spoke. "Andy, old boy ! I'm afraid that I'm a burden to you, and will interfere with you making your escape. Had you better not leave me and try to make your way to our lines without me?" Andrew looked at him with surprise. "Why, Alpheus! What are you talking about? Leave you? No, never. Surely you would not dream that I could be guilty of so base an act as to leave you alone in this condition?" "Yes, but comrade," replied Alpheus, "you see I cannot walk, and it will be impossible for you to 154 ANDREW BENTLEY. carry me," and here the poor fellow broke down, his voice choked with sobs. Andrew knelt by his side. "Alpheus, my dear boy, our agreement was that one should not at- tempt to make an escape unless the opportunity was offered to the other as well. Do you think I could ever forgive myself if I should abandon you now? No! If we are captured, it will be to- gether and if we escape, we shall escape together, and we shall not give up trying until we reach our lines if Andrew Bentley has to carry you the entire distance on his back." At this moment, Alpheus looking up at his comrade through his tears, thought he had never seen a face so beautiful. "God bless you, my dear friend; my ankle don't seem to pain me near so much when I listen to your brave and noble decla- ration." "Yes," said Andrew, "that reminds me that I should have looked at your injured limb before this time, but my mind was engrossed with other things. I will now see what I can do for it." And he care* fully loosened his comrade's shoe and pulling down his sock proceeded as well as he could, in the un- certain moonlight to examine the hurt. He found the ankle and surrounding parts A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 155 much inflamed and swollen. He was not sure, but he thought that no bones had been broken. Possibly it might be only a dislocation or severe sprain. At any rate, he felt that he was unable just at that time to relieve his friend very much. He asked Alpheus for his handkerchief and joining it to his own, he made them into the form of a ban- dage which he bound as tightly as the sufferer could bear it around the injured part. Alpheus declared that Andrew was the making of a first-class surgeon, and that if they ever got back to the Union lines he would recommend him for a place upon the surgeon's staff. They sat to- gether for awhile in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. The moon climbing higher in the heavens, now sent her silvery beams down through the dense fol- iage of the tall pines, making a sort of wierd light about them. Andrew feeling somewhat rested, declared if he did not feel so weak from hunger he would make an attempt to push on farther into the forest. This aroused Alpheus, who finding the pain in his limb somewhat abated, now more keenly than ever felt the pangs of hunger, for it had been fully eighteen long hours since they had tasted food. 156 ANDREW BENTLEY. "I'd give a month's pay to be permitted to eat the cold bread and bacon that I'd find at this moment in the pantry at home," said the young soldier plaintively. Andrew, at the mention of bacon, seemed to remember something, and quickly reaching into the breast pocket of his blouse, drew forth a pack- age enveloped in some black muslin, which he care- fully unfolded, revealing something wrapped up in what appeared to be an old letter. This our hero removed, placing the paper in his pocket, and held up to view a piece of greasy bacon. Alpheus, who had been closely watching the movements of his companion, uttered a cry of glad surprise, "Where in all creation did you get that?" "In my pocket," quietly replied his comrade, making an examination of his precious find. "Well, can't you just reach into your pocket again and perhaps you may be able to draw forth a loaf of bread or some hard tack," said Alpheus jocosely. Andrew said he was not so much of a wizard as that, although he would be mighty glad to do so if he could. Securing the loan of Alpheus' pocket knife, he cut the meat in two pieces, handing his comrade a A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 1 57 trifle the larger piece. They both, without any further ceremony greedily devoured their greasy portion, sorrowful as the last bite disappeared down their throats that there was no more. Hunger truly imparts flavor to any sauce, for here were two men who, under any other conditions, would have hesitated to attack a repellant piece of greasy, raw bacon, and when they had finished it long for more. Andrew informed his companion how he came into possession of the meat, and regretted now that he had not laid in a supply of other food. The allowance for each was small, not sufficient to fully stay the pangs of hunger, but they had noth- ing else, so philosophically accepted the situation and tried not to murmur. They decided that as they stood much in need of information as to their whereabouts, it was bet- ter to stay where they were, and in the morning for Andrew to make a reconnoisance. They did not apprehend that any pursuit would be made that night, yet did not like to risk traveling any farther for fear they might be running into danger. They were both weary and the moon having become ob- scured by heavy clouds floating in the sky, it grew dark within the thicket. So burrowing deeper into their beds of leaves, they ceased conversing and lay quite still. 158 ANDREW BENTLEY. The afternoon and evening had been quite sul- try as well as the earlier part of the night. But now a slight wind had arisen and soughed through the pine tree-tops with a mournful sound. An- drew could not tell what time of night it might be, but he judged it must be past midnight. He no- ticed that the face of the sky had undergone a change in the last half hour. The face of the moon was now entirely hid by the clouds, and the air was indicative of a downpour of rain before morning. Andrew tried to think out a plan of action, but nothing lucid appeared to his mind. His eyelids were growing heavy, and ere long he stretched himself out alongside of his companion, who was already locked in slumber. He soon joined him in dreamland, and there within the depths of a Caro- lina pine forest our two soldier boys slumbered as peacefully as though under the home-roof on the Western slope of the Alleghenies. How long they slept, they did not know, but they were awakened by a terrific roaring of the wind as it swept through the tree-tops, causing the tall pines to sway back and forth as though they were bowing to the mighty power that so rudely disturbed them. Every now and again a dead branch wrenched from its fastening came swoop- A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 159 ing to the ground, while the dry leaves were caught up by the undercurrent and swept through the wood like a snow storm. Soon the lightning began to flash athwart the sky, followed by heavy peals of thunder, which sounded in the ears of the now thoroughly aroused sleepers, as though a fierce artillery duel was in progress. Then there came a lull, the wind ceased to blow, and then it seemed as though the flood gates of the clouds had burst from their fastenings. The rain fell in torrents, coming straight down, penetrating every nook and corner. Any ordinary shelter would have proven insufficient for protec- tion, and our two friends having nothing whatever to cover them were soon drenched from head to foot. Andrew thoughtfully took his comrade's cap and his own, and turning them inside out, man- aged to catch a few mouthfuls of rain water, which Alpheus declared tasted almost as good as the ba- con. "Yes," replied Andrew with a sly twinkle in his clear blue eye ; "not quite so good, though, as that apple-jack in that old canteen would taste had we it here/' ; > "Now, Andy, I think it is time to let up on that l6o ANDREW BENTLEY. apple-jack," said his comrade, who still felt a cha- grin at the way they had been gobbled up, as he chose to term it. "I was only joking, comrade," said Andrew. "Never mind what I say." Andrew's propensity to tease was always pre- dominant, and though grave their situation, he could not refrain from making occasional refer- ence to the prime origin of their present condition. The rain after flooding hill and dale, abruptly ceased falling. It had grown light by this time and the rising sun sent its gleams through the wood, warming up the atmosphere and resting upon the drops of rain yet clinging to the leaves, making the forest trees look as though bedecked with a coronet of pearls. Our two soldier boys hailed the rain storm with delight. True, they were wet to the skin, but their clothing would soon dry as the weather was warm. With the fall of rain, the earth was saturated with water, and thus all scent of their foot steps had been washed away, effectively preventing their being tracked and hunted down like wild beasts by the blood hounds their enemies usually put upon the track of escaping prisoners. Again, the air was more buoyant and fresh from A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. l6l its cleansing and our two friends, notwithstanding their forlorn condition, felt in better spirits than the night before. This was no doubt in part due from their rest, and the short slumber they had both enjoyed. After a short conference it was decided that Alpheus should remain where he was, while Andrew would make a survey of their surroundings and learn what he could of their chances for escape. Our hero started out with but a faint hope in his heart of being able to learn anything, as he feared the pine forest was one of the many exten- sive tracts of woodland found in North Carolina which covered many acres in extent. He was quite anxious that he should find some- thing that would serve as food for his famishing friend as well as himself. Kind reader, just allow your stretch of imagina- tion to place you in a like predicament as Andrew now found himself to be in. Weak and languid from long fasting; in a dense forest with no knowledge of his surroundings, unarmed and in- capable of defending himself from an enemy that in all probability might be even now upon their tracks. Besides, he knew not what wild animals might infest the woods. Then he had an injured II 1 62 ANDREW BENTLEY. comrade unable to walk, to care for. Surely his position was not an enviable one. But Andrew Bentley was a man of strong will and determination, and although he was not serv- ing in the ranks from his own volition, yet he would return, if only for the sake of his comrade. Come what may, he would never desert Alpheus Forest in his extremity. He first thought he would endeavor if possible to learn something of his enemies, so he made a detour in the direction in which he supposed the railroad track to lie. He found that in their jour- neying during the early part of the night, that they had reached much higher ground than the sur- rounding country. He had not proceeded far un- til he came to a point where he could see the bright lines of the railway track stretching far away in the distance, glinting in the bright sunlight, but no sight of any car over an embankment could be seen. He then turned and walked in an opposite di- rection from the one in which he had been travel- ing, and after going a hundred yards or more, he again sought a view of the railroad, looking this time in an opposite direction from the time before. There in the distance lay what appeared to be a car with one end protruding from among the low A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 163 brush. He obtained a better view and looked long and earnestly. Yes, it was the car in which they had journeyed from Lynchburg. But all was still and silent around it, not a sign of a living thing could be seen. Andrew was at a loss to know what all this si- lence could mean. Surely they were not all dead, nor was it probable that they had left the car. But he had no means of finding out and he dared not approach much closer. Then he reasoned. What did it matter to him? True, there might be Union men still in the toils, but if so, how could he render them any aid? Their situation was largely like the French in their defeat at Waterloo. It was truly a case of "Sauve qui peut !" ("Save himself who can!") and so Andrew retraced his steps to where he had left his comrade. This would have been somewhat difficult for him to do had he not scattered a few broken branches along the way to guide him on his return. He related to his friend what he had seen, then proposed to reconnoitre in a different direction. Alpheus was loathe to have his friend leave him again, but it was very necessary that they learn the better way to travel on their journey ; besides, there was a vain hope of Andrew finding something to 164 ANDREW BENTLEY. stay the pangs of hunger that now began to be felt by both of them quite keenly. Promising to return soon, Andrew set out, marking the way for his return in the same man- ner as he did before. He had worked his way a considerable distance into the forest when he was startled by the sound of an axe falling faintly upon his ear. At first he thought his sense of hearing had de- ceived him. He stopped and listened. Yes, there he heard it again. Must be at quite a dis- tance he thought. He now debated in his mind whether he should advance or return. If he should go forward and meet with those who were his ene- mies, be discovered and captured, what would be- come of his helpless comrade waiting for his return? Still if he expected to accomplish anything he must take some chances. He at last determined to proceed cautiously and find out all he could with- out being discovered. So he stepped lightly through the wood, keeping as much as possible within the shade of the trees. Louder and louder, sounded the strokes of the axe as he approached nearer, Andrew felt that the wood-chopper, whoever he might be, was evidently alone. He now exer- A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 165 cised greater caution for he did not wish to be ob- served, should the man with the axe prove to be unfriendly. So quietly stepping from tree to tree, he slowly approached and gaining the shelter of a large pine he cautiously peered out from behind its trunk. The sight that met his eyes caused his heart to give a throb of joy. An aged negro with skin as black as ebony stood upon a fallen pine, one of the victims of the late storm. He was plying his axe with unusual vigor. His arms were bared to the elbows, and showed a mass of knotted sinews. While our hero looked, he paused, and drawing forth a much faded red cotton handkerchief, vig- orously mopped his face and brow, from which were streaming large drops of perspiration. He seemed to be addressing some one, and just then Andrew caught sight of a negro lad probably ten years of age, who was playfully gathering the chips that flew from the log as the old man's axe clove the resinous pine. The boy was attired in a blue cotton shirt, with patches of various colors, an old ragged pair of brown overalls, much too large for him, enveloped his legs, but his round chubby face evinced that he was the possessor of good health if he didn't sport good clothes. . : "- rr: :: :i* :: dofadMTuralcokir, tic* be corid aidr approach. For tibe axe feB Tfeebor Wfa ! Who de MM ate JOIMC? ^ -^ r^ - ^ - , .^^MhM^^ ^^fl^h^^^fc^ M&*~*>*- ** ^ ^ ^ ^ on MCB^ aaa MC ^^rc CTKKMcr tnac it JPCNWI not to Make bitMseff also, fty^ a o tibr a(^4 acgro, wbo after a to p(acc ] own, ! Yoosea - ~- *> j> - - - - ~ ll B loBCl. TI>. : : ~ -.;.: , 1 68 ANDREW BENTLEY. "An' youse a Linkum sojer? An' yer meanter say youse a pris'ner?" "No, not just now," replied Andrew pleasantly. "My comrade and I made our escape last night." "An* youse shore youse a Linkum sojer?" And the black man passed his hands over Andrew's blouse and rested caressingly upon the brass but- tons. It was evident that Andrew was the first man he had ever seen of that great army, whom he had been told had come to give freedom to those of his race. "An' dese are de close Mar's Linkum dres' his men in? An' do dey all hev' butons like dese wif de picter of a chicken on?" And he again fingered the buttons, gazing intently at the spread eagle outlined thereupon. "That is the picture of the 'Bird of Freedom,' " said Andrew, for he felt amused at the child-like simplicity of the old man. "Did you ever hear of that bird?" The aged darkey shook his head, while he mut- tered, "Mos' likely sum of dem bu'ds dat Mar's Linkum keep." Then speaking louder, "No, we doan hev dat bu'd down yer." The poor African made a truthul statement. His race knew no bird of freedom. 'A;*' youse a Linkt. m sojer ?" A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. I/I Andrew reminded his colored auditor that he and his comrade had been out in the rain last night, and that they were very hungry. This seemed to arouse the old man from the spell which had come over him at this his first sight of a "Linkum so- jer" as he termed our hero. Turning around, he caught sight of the boy whose head was now protruding from the brush, his curiosity having overcome his fears. "Here youse brack scamp! Cum youse rite out here now, go long quick, an' tell mammy to sen' rite off sum cold pone an' roast taters." The lad needed not a second bidding. But coming forth from his retreat, he dashed off among the trees. "Hi dar !" shouted the ole man, "Jist tell mam- my to add a little cawfee, an' tell her to make um rale hot." The messenger paused for a moment, then sped on. "An' duz Mar's Linkum dres all his men dis way?" again inquired the admiring darkey. Andrew assured him he did. "Well ! Well ! How's he gwine to tell youse apart when he wants youse?" Andrew seated himself upon the fallen tree and tried to explain to the wondering man, but soon 1/2 ANDREW BENTLEY. gave it up for a bad job. The intellect of the aged darkey could not grasp things in the abstract. He listened with open-eyed wonder as Andrew re- lated to him of the wreck of the car, and the escape of himself and the injured Alpheus, and their de- sire to get some assistance in making their way back to the Union lines. The old darkey readily agreed to lend all the assitance in his power, for he felt highly honored in being allowed to do some- thing for the great cause of freedom. "Uncle, did you ever see any soldiers down this way?" said Andrew. "Yes, sah, but dey's all Confed'rit. I hearn tell dey's sum of youse Linkum men down ter Sals'bury, but den dey's all prisoners. Nevah seen one dough." Andrew asked him if there might not be dan- ger of a pursuit with dogs? "Can't tell, Mar's, hardly tink dog much ac- count since dat rain last nite ; wash away all smell." This was true although our two friends did not fully realize how great a blessing the flood of rain proved to be. But we will speak of this later. The youngster whom the old man addressed as Tony, it being the short for Anthony, arrived by this time with a basket in which were several pieces A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. of nice, well-browned corn bread, a few baked po- tatoes, with some salt, and a jar about half full of hot coffee, the whole covered with a worn piece of linen of snowy whiteness. Andrew thanked the boy, who grinned and dis- played a full row. of ivories while if he blushed, the color was not perceptible. "Can't youse bow to de gemman, youse brack imp? Hain't youse grandaddy done teach youse more manners as dat?" At this outburst from the aged man, the lad doffed his old straw hat and made a bow that would have done credit to a Chester- field. It had been decided that the best plan was for the two escaped prisoners to remain in their place of concealment until the shades of evening, when the negro would come and conduct them to his cabin. By command of his grandparent, Tony accom- panied Andrew in order to bring back the basket and also learn the way that he might be able to conduct the old man to our soldiers' hiding place later in the day. 1/4 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER XI. KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. REAT Jehosaphat !" exclaimed Alpheus, when after what seemed to him an in- terminable long absence, Andrew re- turned with the boy at his side. "I was sure, old boy, that they had gobbled you again, you stayed so long. And who's this?" he said, looking at Tony. "This is a young friend whom I found with his grandfather a short distance away cutting wood. But see here's the best thing of all that I found," and he held up the basket. "Food!" ejaculated Alpheus; "where on earth did you get it?" And as Andrew removed the cover from the basket, his comrade looked in with a glad surprise written on his face. "Surely you are a magician, Andy; first you reach into your pocket and draw forth a piece of pork, next you go forth in a dense forest, and bring back a basket with some nice food." And with this he plunged his hand into the basket and seiz- KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 1/5 ing a piece of corn bread, together with a potato, he proceeded to take a bite, first of one and then of the other. His companion did likewise and ere long the basket was empty. They divided the coffee, first one drinking the half, and then the other draining the vessel of the remainder. All the while, the boy stood by in open eyed wonder, not saying a single word but doing an immense amount of thinking, for he had never seen men eat so ravenously before. When they had finished their meal, he took the basket and hurried back to his grandparent, de- claring, "Dey's de hungriest men I eber se'ed in all my bo'n days." The old man was so excited he could do no more work that day, so declaring to the boy, "Fse guess I done got 'miff wood fer dis time," he gath- ered up some sticks and bidding the boy do the same, he threw his axe over his shoulder and started for his cabin. This was a red letter day to the poor old slave, and he could hardly contain himself until he broke the news to his old Mandy, that he had this day communioned "wif a rale Lin- kum sojer" (as he termed it), and that another was lying in the wood injured. "Go way, Eben, youse old fool," said his better ANDREW BENTLEY. half. "No Linkum sojers down dis way, 'ceptin dem as is in de prison down at Sals'bury." "Yes deed dey is, rale white Linkum men jist 'scaped and we must help dem, else Mar's Linkum be rale mad at us if he's fine it out." This argument settled it with the old negress, and she fell to work to remove some barrels and boxes from an excavation 'neath the floor of the cabin, where they usually stored their small stock of cabbage and potatoes for the winter. This done, she took down some raccoon skins from the wall and placed them upon the bottom, thus forming a soft rug. She robbed her own bed of an old dingy coverlet, which she carefully hung around the sides to hide out the sight of the ground. Next she hunted up an old canvas bag, in which her husband used to tote his potatoes from the field, and taking Tony with her, she went to the woods and raking together some dead leaves, they filled it, and bringing it to the house, she placed it in the underground apartment remarking to herself, "Dat'll do fer de one who Eben sez is injered." Then she visited the potato patch and vigor- ously plying the hoe for a short time, soon returned to the cabin with a goodly supply of sweet potatoes which she washed and prepared for roasting. KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. Next she proceeded to mix up some corn meal and water to a consistency, and enveloping it in some damp linen, she raked out the ashes and plac- ing it therein, carefully covered it over with more hot coals and left it to bake, declaring "Dat men as hungry as her Tony said dose men were, would no doubt be able to eat consid'able." Then Tony was called and given a few instruc- tions and soon the squawking of a feathered biped revealed the import of his mission. While all this was going on, the old slave was not idle. He had cut two long poles from which he had trimmed all branches. Next he sought a tree in the forest known as the elm, and from this he stripped long pieces of a kind of stringy bark, which, after laying the poles about three feet apart, he wound and plaited the bark back and forth, un- til he had improvised a sort of stretcher sufficiently strong enough to bear the weight of an ordinary sized man. He had learned from Andrew that his com- rade had a badly injured ankle and with this thought in mind, the faithful fellow betook himself again to the forest, where, after sometime spent in a diligent search, he returned with a quantity of roots and bark, part of which he first pounded and 12 ANDREW BENTLEY. then steeping them in boiling water, he set it by, ready to bathe the limb of the sufferer when he should arrive. Andrew and his friend Alpheus, after appeasing their hunger, sat and conversed for some time. Then his comrade complaining of his injured limb paining him, our hero proceeded to examine it. This he could do better than the night before, as he had a better light. He found the ankle still in a swollen condition, though apparently not so bad as the night previous. He could do nothing but carefully replace the bandage, but promised the sufferer to give it his immediate attention as soon as they arrived at the negro's cabin. There was now nothing else to do but wait for the coming of their dusky benefactor. Alpheus declared that sleeping was as cheap as keeping awake, stretched himself out upon his bed of damp leaves, and though it was far from being comfort- able, was soon breathing heavily. Andrew did not deem it best for both to lose themselves in slumber, so concluded he had better keep a watch for fear of a pursuit. The long afternoon was wearing away and the shadows were falling, Andrew keeping faithful vigil by the side of his friend. Alpheus after slum- KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 179 bering for several hours, at last awoke and rubbing his eyes sat up. It was fully a minute before he real- ized his surroundings. Observing his comrade sit- ting so quietly by his side, the impulsive boy threw his arm around Andrew's neck and burst forth with, "Oh, you good, faithful Andy, here you have been watching while I have been sleeping." His comrade assured him that it was all right. That he preferred to keep awake as he was not sure but there might be pursuers upon their track, and he didn't want to be caught napping. "Do you think the old darkey will come for us?" said Alpheus. "Without a doubt," replied his comrade. "I never saw a man so full of admiration and so de- sirous of aiding a Union soldier." "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait 'till he comes," said Alpheus, almost peevishly. Poor boy, he was weak from hunger and the trying experience he was passing through unnerved him. While they are patiently waiting the com- ing of night and their sable benefactor, we might go back a little and inform our readers of what took place at the scene of the accident, although the events we are now about to record were not known 1 8O ANDREW BENTLEY. until sometime after the white winged angel of peace had spread her wings over a once more re- united nation. We left the engineer with his fireman and con- ductor standing in the moonlight looking down at the upturned coach. And, as they did so, it dawned upon all three, how futile it was for them to return with the bare engine and tender. Of the score of prisoners who had been con- fined in the car, only six of those who remained were without any apparent injury except a few bruises. One had been killed outright by being trampled upon in the darkness. Three had es- caped. Why there were not more, we are unable to say as an opportunity was offered to all who were able to leave the car. The remaining ten were more or less injured; some had broken legs, others broken arms, and others injured internally. Of the guards, but few had escaped without slight injury, but only one or two were found unable to do guard duty. The engineer seeing he could do nothing, and knowing he was delaying the northward bound train, bade the guard await his return, and went thundering back to where he had left his train standing on the siding. Arriving there he found KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. l8l the north-bound train waiting. He at once ran his engine in on the siding, giving the waiting train a clear track, which at once proceeded on its way. The conductor then detached two empty box cars and coupling them fast to the engine, and taking on some extra guards, who had remained on the freight train, they hurried back to the scene of the accident. Once there, they set about carrying those of the guard who were unable to walk to one of the box cars and placing them therein, they next transferred the worst injured prisoners to the other box car, then others not so badly injured, until finally all were safe on board. The one Union soldier who had yielded up his life in the accident, was without ceremony thrown into a shallow ditch nearby and covered by some underbrush, there to rest in what might be considered a poor pretext for a grave, un- knelled, uncoffined, and unknown until the resur- rection morn, while in the many weary years to come a vacant chair will stand in some Northern home, waiting for a form that will never occupy it, and weary eyes will grow dim watching for a loved one that will ne'er return. When their work was completed they made haste back to that portion of the train left upon the siding, where all was soon 182 ANDREW BENTLEY. connected together, and the engine once more in front, the train went dashing off toward Salisbury where it arrived sometime after midnight. There the prisoners regardless of their suffer- ing, were hustled out of their car and placed with- in the stockade where they were soon lost sight of in the great mass of common sufferers who were wasting away in the many prison pens of the South. A report was made of the loss of the car, and the escape of the prisoners. In the morning a wreck train crew was sent out to see what could be done with the overturned coach. Accompanying them were a few soldiers with a dog. The trainmen made an attempt to place the car upon the track but failed, then set it on fire and soon a heap of smouldering ashes marked the resting place of the ill-fated coach. The soldiers made repeated efforts to have the dog take the trail of the fugitives, but owing to the copious rainfall of the night, all trace of those es- caping was obliterated, and ere long the attempt to recapture the runaways was given up in disgust. Although the escaping prisoners not being aware of this, suffered as much apprehension of mind as though a pursuit was being made. KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 183 The shades of evening had now fallen upon the forest, and the gloom had crept into the thicket where our two friends sat waiting. They were expecting every minute to hear the approach of the darkey. Alpheus, who had been rather skeptical regarding the promised assistance from their colored friend, now broke forth. He de- clared that he did not think the man meant to come for them. But Andrew who still had faith in the promises of his old black friend, bade his comrade be patient just a little longer. At last Andrew's promise to his friend was verified. A slight noise was heard outside the thicket, and soon the boy put in an appearance, followed by the od man carrying on his shoulder his home-made stretcher. He apologized for his delay by saying that he made "consid'able 'zamination of de woods fer tu see ef dere was enny sojers wif dorgs around. I reckon youse doan know dat de way dey's hunt 'scaped pris'ners an brack people is wif dem big dorgs. I'se tel you dem dorgs means bizness when dey's gits arter a feller. He's almost ketched ter once. Dem dorgs de po'fullest critters youse eber se'ed, sho's yo' born." It's no telling how long the negro would have 1 84 ANDREW BENTLEY. kept up this discourse on "dorgs" had not Andrew intimated that they were anxious to be away. Al- pheus was at once carefully placed upon the littler provided by the slave, and soon they were on their way to his cabin, Andrew and the old darkey carry- ing Alpheus and the boy walking in front leading the way. They walked through the forest for a long time in silence. At length they paused for a short rest. "Youse fren' need some 'tenshum, I reckon?" "Yes/' replied Andrew, "his ankle is still swol- len." "I'se fix dat all right soon as we'se git to de cabin," said the negro looking down at Alpheus with a face full of sympathy. "I hope it won't delay us long on our journey," remarked Andrew. "Doan youse teck no trouble about dat. Old Eben will tend to dat leg. He's wanter do sumfin fer Mar's Linkum dis yer long time." Alpheus, who had been listening, was at once disarmed of all doubts and fears. He afterward declared that he would be willing to trust his life with the old Af- rican. Again they resumed their journey and presently emerged from the wood and entering a cornfield KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 185 in which the corn was till standing in the ear, they made their way carefully so as not to break any of it down, soon came to a small cleared space in the center of which stood a cabin barely perceptible in the gathering gloom. As they neared the door, it was thrown wide open and an aged negress stood before them. Her head was done up in a faded red handkerchief wound around her in the form of a turban. Her dress was almost covered by an immense gingham apron quite conspicuous on account of its large bar and bright color. These few extra articles of dress were about all Mandy had to receive company in, but no queen in royal robes of state felt more proud to receive her most honored courtier, than did this poor slave wife and mother, in knowing she was about to offer a shelter to two soldiers of the great war of Mar's Linkum. Her welcome assured the two fugitives that here was both shelter and safety. "Walk right in gemmen an' teck dat p'or man off dat stretcher and place him on de bed." Alpheus smiled and said he would try to get along without going to bed. The old auntie then hurried in and drawing forth a broad pine bench, 1 86 ANDREW BENTLEY. quickly snatched an old comfortable from a bed standing in a corner. This she folded and spread it upon the bench, making a fairly comfortable couch for the young soldier. The cabin was small, with but one room. It was made of logs with a clay mortar worked in be- tween, and the whole covered by a whitewash that might once have been the color its name implied, but now was only a dingy yellow, possibly due to smoke and age. At one end was a large fireplace from which the smoke was carried by a mud-and-stick chimney. There was but one small window of two panes of glass. This was carefully covered by a piece of blanket and after they had entered, old Eben se- curely barred the door and placed a large stick of wood close to the lower edge to shut out all light that might stream forth. The floor was made of rough boards that had evidently been put down when green, and drying out from year to year, thus leaving a large crack betwixt each one. This was the plain home of slavery, but no gilded palace hall could have been more acceptable to its owner, than this refuge to the two men who felt that they were among those, who would if KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 1 8? necessary, give their last bite of food to the two be- neath their roof and feel honored in doing so. The boy Tony had hurried off to the spring and now came in with a basin of water and a towel as he said "fer de gem'men to bave wif." This little act of courtesy coming from a poor negro boy was all the more appreciated by our two friends. The room indicated that their coming had been anticipated, for the table had been drawn to the center of the room and spread with a white sheet, and Mandy had placed thereon all her pewter plates and tin cups, which she had scoured and burnished until they shone like silverware in the flickering light of the fire. She had been busy all afternoon getting ready for her distinguished guests, and a look of satisfac- tion was on her face as she placed upon the table a nice roasted chicken, a goodly quantity of roast sweet potatoes, and a freshly baked pone. Bidding her guests be seated, she poured out for each a mug of steaming hot coffee made from roasted corn, which, though it had not the flavor of Mocha and Java, still had a delicious taste to her two hungry guests. Need we ask if they enjoyed that supper? The 1 88 ANDREW BENTLEY. way the chicken, sweet potatoes and corn pone dis- appeared evinced enough. The man and boy stood at a respectful distance behind their guest. Andrew beckoned the old man and urged him to be seated but he shook his head. He remembered that he was only a slave and that his guests were white men. Mandy was very attentive in waiting upon our two friends, urging upon them to "teck moar cawfee an' jist help yo'sels to chicken," and seemed delighted to see them enjoy their repast. At length after fully satisfying the inner man, they pushed back from the table, Alpheus declar- ing that he felt as well satisfied as though he had feasted at Delmonico's. Andrew thanked their hostess for the nice sup- per they had, which set her off in a series of bows and curtseys, while her old heart was filled with joy and delight, and she muttered to herself : "Nevah seed sich nice lookin' men, an' dey's so perlite. Speaks to an ole brack auntie jes' as ef I was a white lady/' After supper the old man bathed Alpheus' ankle with the decoction he had prepared and carefully bound it up with a bit of clean linen. The two soldiers sat and conversed for some KINDNESS OF THE SLAVE. 189 time with their dusky friends, the old man doing most of the talking while the old auntie and boy sat looking at their guests with eyes full of admiration* From the old man they learned that he and his fam- ily were all owned by a rich planter, who at the out- break of the war had entered the Confederate army and that in one of the early battles in Virginia had been killed. That the plantation had been for a time in charge of an overseer, but he having been conscripted into the army, there was no one to look after the black people, and that he and his old woman had come to this cabin, which belonged to the plantation, to wait till the war would close. He also informed them that Tony's father was his son, and that he was now somewhere in the neighborhood of Charleston where he had been taken to work upon the rebel fortifications. At length when the hour came for retiring (al- though there was no timepiece to indicate the hour), the old man lifted two of the boards in the floor and showed their guests the retreat that had been prepared for them. Tony got a pine knot, lighted it and held it, so our friends could get to their quarters. Alpheus was helped down and resting upon the skins Mandy had placed there, de- clared he would not want a better bed. ANDREW BENTLEY. Andrew took his place by the side of his com- rade and the old negro replacing the boards, they lay conversing together in the faint light which came through the cracks in the floor from the fire above. But the old auntie soon covering the coals with ashes, all light faded out and they were left in dark- ness. "I feel like thanking our Heavenly Father for so kindly providing for us this refuge/' whispered Alpheus. "Supose we do," said Andrew, and together the two men knelt down, and there in the silent dark- ness of that slave cabin, a united prayer of thanks- giving went up to Him who "doth not fail to note even the fall of a sparrow." In the morning the savory smell of frying pork greeted their olfactories, and ere long they were back at Mandy's table delighting the poor old wo- man's heart with the relish they showed for the food she had prepared for them, while an occasional compliment from Andrew set her almost wild with joy. Again the aged negro dressed Alpheus' ankle, which already began to show signs of improve- ment, the swelling having visibly diminished. RETURN TO THE UNION LINES. 1QI CHAPTER XII. RETURN TO THE UNION LINES. URING the day the boy Tony kept a sharp lookout from the edge of the clearing, and thus the day passed like many others that followed, while the injured ankle continued to grow stronger. Tony kept up a faithful watch for a week, then relaxed his vigilance somewhat. The old negress labored long and hard to make the stay of her guests pleasant. There was one thing that was puzzling Andrew, that was how to make their way through the country and escape detection, as their bright blue uniforms were rather conspicuous. He counseled with his comrade and after thinking the mater over, but one avenue seemed open to them to get around the difficulty. And this offered only a partial outlet for them. It was to exchange clothes with their host. But the poor old slave did not possess a change of clothing, and those of Tony were too small. While they debated the question, a way opened ANDREW BENTLEY. up unexpectedly, which enabled them to surmount the difficulty. One night after all had retired a knock was heard at the door of the cabin. The occupants were startled and our two friends in their hiding place waited breathlessly for developments. "Who's dar?" came the voice of old Eben. "Jist me, daddy," replied the voice from with- out. "Go long dere now, do youse spec I'se gwine ter let youse in kase youse call me daddy? Um, guess not ef dis nigga knows his'sel." Again there came a knock, and a voice saying in an imploring tone, "Do let me in daddy, I'se youse son Mose. Doant youse know Mose? Him who was tecked away off to work fer de Con- fed'rits?" Then the old man was heard counseling with his wife, "Sho nuff, I believe dat is our boy Mose, I'd orter know'd his voice." And with this the parent arose and unbarring the door let in his boy. There was great rejoicing. Little Tony had to be waked up to share in the joy ocasioned by the return of his daddy. Our two friends who had been listening in- tently now sank back with a feeling of relief that RETURN TO THE UNION LINES. 193 the coming of the stranger boded them no ill. In the morning the father proudly introduced his son Moses, who proved to be a strapping young dar- key about Andrew's size. Mose had watched his oportunity and had taken French leave of his com- panions on the earth-works near Charleston and made his way home. He was delighted to meet with the Union soldiers and hoped he could be of assistance to them. His coming provided the way for the exchange of clothing, and Mandy worked hard to put the clothes of her son and husband in as fit condition as possible for the exchange. The aged negro at first protested against the exchange of the fine blue clothes of the Union sol- diers for his old rags. But in his heart there was a secret delight, and after he had donned one of the suits, he could often be seen sitting in the bright sunshine admiring himself with a greater satisfac- tion than the most fashionable dude of a great city. About a fortnight had passed since the coming of the Union men to the negro's cabin, and the young soldier's injured limb was almost as strong as ever. Plans were laid for their departure, for they were anxious to get back to the Union lines. Then again they did not like to impose further up- on the generous hospitality of the old couple. It 13 194 ANDREW BENTLEY. was decided that Mose should accompany them until he could find another to take his place. Our two soldier boys bade their benefactors an affectionate farewell, taking their black toil worn hands in theirs. The old negress actually broke down and cried, while old Eben had to resort fre- quently to the use of his faded handkerchief. Andrew and Alpheus bestowed upon the old couple all the little trinkets in their possession, and Andrew rewarded Tony for his faithful vigil by presenting him with the ten dollars of Confederate money he had received from the rebel soldier at Lynchburg. The boy took it and made a low obeisance, while he grinned and showed the whites of his eyes. The Confederate money had no significance to him, but he prized it highly because it came from a Lincoln soldier. With a parting injunction from old Eben for "Mose ter be shuah ter pro wide fo de men an' look out fo' clorgs," the trio took their departure. We will not go in detail how they journeyed, mostly by night in order to avoid being observed, hiding in caves and occasionally seeking the pro- tection of some negro cabin. Mose proved to be not only a safe guide, but faithful in looking out for RETURN TO THE UNION LINES. 195 their wants while they traveled. At one time they feared that dogs were on their track, as they heard their bark in the distance, but they threw them off the scent, if such was the case, by walking a consid- erable distance in the bed of a stream before re- suming their course. After several days journey, the faithful Mose bade them farewell, first supplying them with a trusty guide, whom he happened to know living along their route. And thus they kept on, each day drawing nearer the Union lines. Andrew learning by ex- perience that knowledge of travel by night, which served him later on in his life as a soldier. At last one morning as the sun was lighting up the tree-tops on the Virginia hills, they looked down upon a piece of bunting waving in the dis- tance. Its colors of red, white and blue making on the dark background of green forest leaves a pic- ture which the two weary travelers declared was the prettiest they had ever looked upon. It was the flag of their country, and underneath its folds was safety and protection. It proved to be floating over the outposts of their own corps (the Third) and ere long they were back in the camp of their own regiment, where 196 ANDREW BENTLEY. they were congratulated by their comrades upon their return, as they were supposed to be dead or taken prisoners. The regiment had moved its camp and was now many miles from the old farm house on the War- rentown Pike. So it was impossible for Alpheus to visit the farmer and secure his canteen of apple- jack, as well as wreak his vengeance on the F. F. V. But both of our friends had an experience they did not soon forget, and months after, while lying in winter quarters, some one would call for the story of "How near two Yankee soldiers came to- getting some old Virginia apple-jack." BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 1 97 CHAPTER XIII. BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. HE spring of 1864 came and a new life was infused into the rank and file of the army by General Grant, who had met with noted success in the West, being made Lieutenant General of all the forces of the United States. Heretofore, each army had acted independently of the other; now they were to act in concert, and thus prevent the Confederate forces from aiding each other. The strength of the South lay in the armies of Lee in Virginia and Joseph E. Johnston in Geor- gia. Grant was to attack the former and Sherman the latter, and both were to keep hammering at the work regardless of wind or weather. History records how effectively Sherman did his part of the work, and also how Grant verified his terse telegram, "We will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." May 5th and 6th witnessed the battle of the Wil- derness. In this battle, the Colonel of Andrew's 198 ANDREW BENTLEY. regiment, who had before his enlistment been a Methodist minister, and had been dubbed "The Fighting Parson," led his men into the fight all the while singing a popular camp meeting chorus. The battle had been raging since early dawn when the Colonel of the Sixty , Penna., was ordered to take his regiment and charge the ene- my, then posted in strength along the plank road. These planks had been taken up and placed in piles along the road, thus affording the enemy a protec- tion against the rain of musketry that showered upon them from the Union line. When the order was given, the regiment moved out with its old time precision ; not a man faltered, though they knew it was almost a forlorn hope, but on they went, all the while subject to a decimating fire. But they wavered not. They had reached a point within a few rods of the enemy's line, when the order was given to "Double quick time !" But hardly had it been sounded when from behind the barricade spoken of, there arose seemingly a bri- gade of the enemy, and poured into the advancing regiment a murderous fire, which seemed to shrivel it up like a tender plant under the blighting effects of a frost. The range being so short nearly every shot told BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. with fatal effect, and that which was once the pride of the brigade, was now a writhing contorted mass of humanity, fleeing wildly towards the wood, leav- ing over half their number on the field. The offi- cers that had escaped did their utmost to bring or- der out of confusion, but their efforts were a failure. Andrew Bentley's Company occupied the cen- ter of the line, and our hero was in his place march- ing along with the stoicism of an Indian. As the line was advancing in double file, Andrew was thus thrown in the rear rank. When the fire opened and the crash came, the men in front of him, both right and left, were seen to go down together, An- drew was also seen to fall at the same time. When the fight was over, an attempt was made by the remainder of the regiment to recover its dead and wounded in the fatal charge, but in this they wefe only partially successful, for the underbrush having taken fire, was now a raging sheet of flame, licking up both the dead and wounded in its capacious maw. Again the news flew Northward that another terrible battle had been fought, and in the village of N there was gloom and sadness, for the news had come that Andrew Bentley had been seen to fall in the charge, and that owing to a part 2OO ANDREW BENTLEY. of the battlefield having been swept by a forest fire, it was impossible to recover his body. The little village again put on the garb of mourning, and as in the case of Phineas Gray a memorial service was held, at which there were many moist eyes for all remembered the circumstances attending his sec- ond entering the army. In the home of the aged parents the sorrow was indeed truly great. It was not of the loud, demonstrative kind, but a quiet bowing down of the aged forms and a throbbing of hearts filled with unutterable woe. Annie Preston was with them, mingling her tears with theirs in a common sorrow. Farmer Bentley tried to console himself with these words, "He died on the field of honor." This sounded sweet to Annie, but it did not fill the ach- ing void in her heart. The days went sorrowfully by and Andrew was mourned, not only as one dead but one denied a soldier's burial. It was about a fortnight ater the news had reached N of the battle of the Wilderness and the seeming fate of Andrew Bentley, when in the deepening twilight a form clad in a butter-nut suit, his head covered by an old white hat much the worse for wear, slipped out of the wood that ad- joined the Bentley farm, and stole through the BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 2OI fields till he reached the door of the farm house. He first took a hasty peep inside, which though short, revealed the form of the aged parents sitting alone by the supper table. He gave a light rap upon the door which was at once answered by Farmer Bentley, who threw the door wide open letting a bright ray of light fall upon the figure out- side. For a moment he appeared stunned, then quickly pressing his hand to his brow, he seemed about to fall backward, uttering at the same time a cry, "My God, is it my boy Andrew back from the dead?" He would have fallen but the figure in butter-nut eagerly sprung forward and tenderly as- sisted the almost unconscious man to a chair. Mrs. Bentley at once arose and came forward to learn what was wrong, when the word "Mother" fell upon her ear, and instantly she was clasped in a pair of strong arms. She had caught a sight of his face and the surprise was too much for her. She hung limp and helpless in his arms. "Andrew!" for it was no other carefully placed her upon a couch near by and proceeded to bathe her face and wrists with cool water. She quickly revived and opening her eyes they rested lovingly on her son whom she had mourned as dead. Andrew hastily assured his parents "that it was 2O2 ANDREW BENTLEY. he, and not a spirit from the shadow land.'* They were overjoyed to have him with them again. "But why this strange costume? This coming so unexpectedly?" "That requires an explanation and carries with it somewhat of a story, but mother first let me have a bite of something to eat, for I'm almost fam- ished. Have had nothing since morning; just a bit of bread and meat, if you have it handy, and then while I eat I will give you my story." The fond mother hastened to spread before him a tempting array of eatables. Andrew having first drawn the blinds close down, went to the door, opened it, and cast a searching glance out in the darkness, for he fancied he had heard a suspicious noise 'neath the window, but after a close survey he quickly closed the door and quietly shoved the bolt too, so as to prevent any outsider from enter- ing unannounced. He then returned to the table, seated himself and began a hungry attack upon the food before him. Seeing his father and mother sitting in anx- ious expectation he began, and we will give his story just as he related it. "Father and mother, I hope you will both for- BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 2O3 give me for what I have done, but I could not help it." "Help what?" exclaimed his mother. And a feeling of a dread of something terrible came over her. "Why, you see," said Andrew, "when we started on that fearful charge upon the plank road, I felt that I would be the last to turn back, but when that terrible fire swept over us, and hundreds of our brave boys bit the dust, the two men in front of me being pierced at the same time by the deadly mis- siles, and falling upon me with their combined weight, I was borne to the ground with them, but soon struggled to my feet only to find the boys of the regiment going pell-mell towards the wood. I at once started to follow them, but losing my way, I failed to find my command. But keeping on, I soon found quite a body of stragglers, who were skulking in the woods. It was then the thought came to me of returning home, for I had always felt that I was unjustly forced into the service, and while I did my duty at all times, I had but little heart in it. You must also know, that there is lit- tle show for promotion of a conscript when among volunteer soldiers. I felt that I could not look for- ward towards being anything else than a common 2O4 ANDREW BENTLEY. soldier. So carefully concealing my gun and cartridge box 'neath a fallen tree, I resolved to sever my connection with the army and travel home- ward. "I soon found quite a large company in the same notion as myself. But it would not do for us to travel together in a body, so we separated into groups of two and three, to insure more safety. *At one time I was obliged to swim the river and draw one of my companions upon a board after me, who was unable to swim. All the while the water about me was churned into a foam by the bullets of the Union pickets. At another time we fell in with some of Moseby's guerrillas, with whom we ex- changed uniforms and afterwards passed off as Southern refugees going North. "I traveled all the way on foot and mostly at night. I was obliged to beg my way for I did not have a cent of money. At one time I was within a half a mile of Uncle John's who lives in the Cum- berland Valley, but I did not dare call on them as I did not wish to reveal myself.'* Again Andrew fancied he heard a noise without and, rising, he went quickly to the door, opened it and cast a scrutinizing glance into the darkness. An actual occurrence. BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 205 "You see," he said, returning to his seat, "I am not desirious of being seen by any one of the neighbors and should prefer that they do not know of my being at home. "I confess I am, or will be looked upon in the light of a deserter. But I only want a few days of rest and a change of clothing, when I shall start for one of the Western states, there to remain till the war is over." At the word deserter, his father groaned aloud. "My son," said he, "it is only natural that as a father, I should feel like shielding you, but I must say frankly that I cannot commend the course you have taken. It grieves me very much that a son of mine should turn his back on the old flag. We mourned you as dead, but in our sorrow we had the consolation of believing you had perished on the field of honor. I fear it is impossible for you to remain concealed from our neighbors; even now your coming may have been witnessed by some. I don't know that we have a soul unfriendly toward us. But then some imprudent one may carry the news to the county seat, and soon the Provost Marshall will be here with his minions to hunt you down and you know the fate of a deserter, my boy. Tis an open grave, a coffin, a platoon of soldiers 2O6 ANDREW BENTLEY. with loaded muskets. He who has proved recreant to his vow furnishes the rest." The father while talking had arisen and was pac- ing excitedly to and fro, while the hot scalding tears fell like rain down the mother's withered cheeks. "My son! Oh, my son! Why did you do this?" she wailed in the anguish of her heart. An- drew could not bear to look upon the distress of his loved parents. He buried his face in his hands, while the tear-drops trickled through his fingers and fell on the floor. At that moment he fully realized the mistake he had made, that he was an outcast from society. He groaned aloud: "Father! Mother! Forgive your mistaken, boy. I will return at once and try to retrieve my lost honor." "You cannot return at once my boy," said the father. "You must first be provided with suitable clothing ; you cannot go forth in that garb. I will also see that you are provided with funds necessary for traveling." It was decided that Andrew should keep in se- clusion until by nightfall of the next day, when he would repair to the house of a kind neighbor who BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 2O/ lived in a secluded part of the country, and there re- main until he was fully prepared for the journey. The hopes of the Bentley family to keep con- cealed the return of their son, were doomed to dis- appointment. Already their secret was in the pos- session of one who, as the reader well knows, had no particular love for Andrew Bentley. As the door was thrown open in answer to the light rap made by Andrew, and the flood of light streamed out revealing his figure as well as that of his father standing in the door way, Henry Wil- liams paused at the garden gate. Having a few moments' leisure in the store, he had quietly slipped out and taken the path through the meadow lead- ing in the direction of Farmer Bentley's. He had wished to make a purchase of some cattle the farmer had for sale, knowing that if he could but get them at a low figure, he could dispose of them at quite a profit to himself. He hesitated before lifting the latch and while doing so, he heard the cry uttered by the aged man and noticed his seem- ing faintness, the hurried rush of the figure outside to his assistance, and all of Henry's senses were on the alert. He was not sure but what he had heard the name Andrew in the surprised cry. Not having the highest sense of honor, he crept 2O8 ANDREW BENTLEY. stealthily up to the window thinking to get a peep inside, but in this he was disappointed for just at that moment some one inside drew the blinds down close, and in a few moments the door was op- ened. Henry sank silently down behind a rose- bush near by and breathlessly waited. As soon as the door was closed and the coast seemed clear, he placed himself close to the window fully resolved to hear the conversation carried on inside. In this he was successful, learning all of Andrew's desertion from the army, and the discomfiture of the parents. Then deeming he had accomplished sufficient for one evening, he turned to steal away when his foot by some means becoming entangled in a creeping vine, he was thrown heavily to the ground. It was this noise that Andrew had heard, when the second time he threw open the door and gazed out. Henry did not at once attempt to rise, but lay quite still and it was well that he did so, otherwise he would have been detected by the watchful eyes of Andrew. As soon as he deemed it safe, he arose to his feet and hurried away chuckling to himself over the news he possessed. Now will the proud Annie Preston be humbled, and she will find there are just as honorable men at home as those who go to the BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 2CX) war. How the folks will look surprised to-morrow when they find their dead hero has turned out to be a live deserter. And thus soliloquizing with him- self, he hastened homeward. The first caller at the store in the morning proved to be Judge Preston, who was on his way to the station to take an early train for the city. He only wanted to purchase some postage stamps but enough time was afforded Henry to remark "that a surprise awaited the people of N ." The Judge inquired of what nature. "Well, Judge, you would hardly believe it, but Andrew Bentley has come to life and is at home," "What, home? I can't believe it; but how come you to know it?" queried the Judge. Henry was for a moment taken a little aback to explain how he came into possession of the knowl- edge of Andrew's return, but his wits quickly com- ing to his rescue he glibly replied, "Why I was passing that way last night and saw a man clad in a butter-nut uniform" approach the door and knock, and when Farmer Bentley opened it I heard him call his son by name." "Yes, but you may have been mistaken," said the Judge. "Farmer Bentley has another boy 14 2IO ANDREW BENTLEY. lately returned from the West, and it may have been him whom you saw." "I don't think I am mistaken for the son you refer to is only a stripling of a boy and this was a bearded man. I have every reason to believe it was Andy Bentley and furthermore I believe he has deserted from the army." "Well, Andrew may be at home, but I cannot believe he has deserted. No, never! Too true a boy to do that," said the Judge somewhat testily, and folding up his stamps he drew on his gloves and left the store. Throughout the entire forenoon Henry regaled his patrons with the wonderful news. Many of them looked upon it as a case of mistaken identity on Henry's part. A few thought it possible that the dead man might have come to life, and An- drew returned in the flesh, but that he had deserted was too much to charge to Andrew Bentley, the favorite of almost everybody in the village. But the seed had been sown, and sensational news travels rapidly, so before the close of the day, the entire community had heard of the conjectured return of Andrew Bentley. Great was the mystery for none of the family in whom the interest was cen- tered appeared upon the street, except the younger BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 211 brother Walter, and all the busy-bodies could do, they could obtain no information from him. Judge Preston said nothing to his family about the mat- ter upon his return home in the evening, but early the next morning he called upon Farmer Bentley and in a tactful way brought the subject up of An- drew's return. He said it was only a rumor which he hardly credited, but he thought the best way was to ascertain for himself the truth or untruthful- ness of the report. Farmer Bentley's face evinced both the surprise and pain he felt. He was at a loss to conceive how the news had been spread, for he was sure Andrew had not left the house since his return. As he knew Judge Preston was a warm friend of the family, and had been instrumental in pro- curing Andrew's discharge, with many other kind acts, he frankly told him of the return of his son, and while he did not intend to say much more on the subject, by a few adroit questions onjhe part of the Judge, he intimated, then finally admitted, that his boy had left the army in a way that did not reflect credit on himself or family. The anxious father appealed to the Judge for advice upon the matter. "Well," remarked his neighbor, "if Andrew has 212 ANDREW BENTLEY. deserted and the fact becomes known, as I fear it likely will, it may go hard with the boy. They will force him to go back into the army if for nothing else than to undergo a court martial and suffer the penalty for desertion, and I hardly need tell you what that is," said the Judge. The look upon the face of the father was pitiful to behold, but he hade no reply, only his breath came short and fast, while his hands trembled per- ceptibly. "I would advise," said the Judge, "the best and safest plan for Andrew would be to get back into the army as soon as possible. Urge upon him to do this and all may yet be well." Farmer Bentley thanked him and said that he had already advised Andrew to this course. The Judge did not ask to see the young man, knowing it would be the wish of the family to have no intrusion, so after a few more remarks, he bade the father good morning and turned his steps homeward, communing with himself as he walked. "I hate to think of that boy being a deserter. The last man I would think of turning his back on the old flag. What in the world prompted him to do it? Surely there must have been some powerful influence to urge him to do this." And thus try- BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 213 ing in his mind to find something to ameliorate the action of Andrew, for he always admired the boy, he entered the shady avenue leading to his home. At the dinner table, the Judge not knowing anything of the existing relations between the son of Farmer Bentley and his daughter Annie re- marked that "It did not seem possible that one mourned as dead like Andrew Bentley should re- turn to them." At the utterance of these words, Annie gave a start and turned deathly pale, while objects in the room seemed to float about her, but in a few mo- ments she recovered, and in a voice quivering with excitement asked : "What did you say, father, about Andrew Bent- ley" "Why," replied the Judge, "yesterday morning as I was on my way to the station, I stopped for a few minutes at Williams' store, and while there, Henry gave me a bit of news about Andrew Bent- ley's arrival at home, and he intimated that he had deserted." "I don't believe a word of it," hastily replied Annie. "I believe he is talking of something he knows nothing about. Pray how did Henry Wil- 214 ANDREW BENTLEY. liams come to learn all this?" she continued warmly. "He said he was coming by there last night when Andrew arrived," remarked her father. "Yes, and I dare say did not hesitate to play eavesdropper," replied Annie. Her pale face now turned to a crimson with the indignation she felt towards Henry. The Judge looked at his daughter with some surprise. "Why these caustic remarks about Henry Williams, daughter? Has he offended you in any way?" Annie made no reply. "Well," continued the Judge, "to satisfy myself, I went over to Farmer Bentley's this morning and al- though I saw no Andrew, I had an interview with his father, and I am sorry to say Henry Williams' report is true, yet how he learned so much without eavesdropping, as you say, I am at a loss to know." "Father, you do not mean to say that Andrew Bentley is at home, and worst of all, that he is a de- serter?" and Annie looked imploringly at her father. "It seems to be that way," returned the Judge, "But why, daughter, should this affect you so?" But again he failed to receive a reply to his BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS DESERTION. 21$ query, for Annie saying, "Pray excuse me," hastily arose from the table and made her way to her room where she threw herself down and burst into a vio- lent flood of tears. "I cannot think it possible; it must be some horrid mistake. Andrew may be at home, but to have deserted, never! He was too much the soul of honor. No ! No ! I will not believe it," and thus all afternoon she went about praying that after all, it might turn out to be a dreadful mistake. It was nearly eight o'clock before she found time to make her accustomed visit to the farm house, and it was with a throbbing heart she met Mrs. Bentley in the door way. "Welcome, my daughter," said the sad-eyed mother, in whose face Annie could not fail to read fresh traces of sorrow. "You came expecting to meet Andrew, but he is gone." "Gone !" exclaimed Annie. "Then it is true he has been home?" "Yes," replied the mother, "but we deemed it best that he seek some place more secluded than this, while he remained at home. He wanted very much to see you, but it would have been quite im- proper for him to be about much." Jl6 ANDREW BENTLEY. "But why so? Why this seclusion?" eagerly questioned Annie. Tears came into the eyes of the aged mother. "My daughter/' and her voice full of anguish, "for some cause or other Andrew has forgotten himself and proved unfaithful to his trust. I cannot think he did so without some good reason. But he is what I fear they call a deserter." And here the fond mother broke down and could say no more. Annie's heart was full to over- flowing, but her eyes refused a tear. She was filled with conflicting emotions. One moment she entertained pity in her heart for the misguided Andrew, the next, a feeling of scorn and contempt swept o'er her at the thought of her lover being classed as a deserter, one so lost to honor as to desert his flag and country in the hour of danger. She did not ask when or where Andrew had gone. For the moment she did not seem to care. After a short conversation with the old lady, she gave her the usual good bye kiss and took her de- parture. "You will try to think kindly of Andrew," said the ever kind and thoughtful mother. "I will try." But Annie's voice, always soft and sweet, sounded hard and cold. She passed out BATTLE OF THB WILDERNESS DESERTION. 2 1/ into the darkness, not any denser than the gloom that hung over her young heart. Her Andrew, a coward, a deserter, kept ringing in her ears, and seemed to dry up all the pity and love in her being. She reached her home, a seem- ingly changed woman. Andrew fortunately did not know the feelings that were being entertained by his sweetheart. In fact he was not aware that his return home was known in the village, for his father deemed it best not to relate to him his interview with Judge Preston. ' It was only a little while before Annie's arrival that he had bade a tender farwell to his father and mother, and accompanied by his younger brother, Walter, they had stolen out into the darkness and made their way to a family who lived some two miles back among the hills in a rattier isolated spot. This family was under many obligations to Farmer Bentley, who had visited them that day, and made arrangements with them to receive his son for a short time. If Andrew had lost caste with Annie on account of being a deserter, there was one in whose eyes he posed as a hero. Walter's admiration for his 2l8 ANDRKW BENTLEY. brother increased rather than diminished, for had he not faced the blazing cannon? Had his arm pierced by a rebel bullet? Then had he not been forced to return to the army against his will? And could he not leave and come home if he wanted to? With the free-booter feeling characteristic of boys, Walter felt that Andrew had done nothing wrong, and was not deserving of censure. The boy had but one idol and that was his brother. And he loved him with a love surpassing that of a woman. He proved to be a faithful look-out for the exile, and brought him all the news. Some of this was not very comforting to Andrew, for it was through Walter he learned that the news of his coming home and his manner of leaving the ranks was now known in the neighborhood. He puz- zled his brain to know how his secret got abroad, but when he learned that it first emanated from Williams, he concluded that Henry must have been a listener on the night of his arrival home, and it no doubt was he, who made the noise that he had heard twice upon that night. In order to pass the time away, Andrew spent much of it in roaming through the lorest with a gun in search of game, and many a nimble squirrel BATTLE OF THE WILDERKESS DESERTION. 2 19 fell before his unerring aim, for Andrew was a good marksman. In these excursions he was invariably accom- panied by Walter, and every squirrel brought down from a far distant tree-top, only served to increase his admiration for the skill of his idolized brother. Andrew had been supplied with clothing and money by his father ; but still he lingered, fostering the fond hope that he might by some means secure an interview with Annie, for he feared he had fallen in her esteem. He had sent her a message by Walter but up to this time had received no reply in return. His delay was suddenly terminated by a circumstance, which while he feared, he had hoped would not come to pass. The ever faithful Walter accidentally overheard Henry Williams remark to a neighbor when clos- ing the store one evening, "Well, we'll soon know whether he is in the neighborhood or not," for up to this time none of the villagers had obtained even a glimpse of the hiding soldier, and the belief was daily growing that he had never returned to N . "Yes, we expect the Provost Marshal here to-morrow with a detail of men to make a search." 22O ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER XIV. AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. HIS was enough for Walter Bentley. He knew whom they alluded to. His be- loved brother was in danger. Hastily he sped home and related what he had heard to his parents. He was desirous, late as it was, to go and warn Andrew, but they persuaded him that it was better to retire and go early in the morning. Walter did so, but it was hard to court sleep, with such a momentous matter on his mind. He finally fell into a fitful slumber, disturbed by dreams, but as the old kitchen clock pealed out the hour of four, Walter was up and dressed. It was fast growing light, and not waiting for his breakfast, the faithful boy sped away across the fields and woodland, to break the news to Andrew of the probable danger. Although it was quite early in the morning, he heard the familiar crack of Andrew's rifle. He at once gave a peculiar whistle, which had been AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 221 agreed upon between them as a signal. This was at once answered by his brother, toward whom he quickly made his way. He found Andrew on the edge of a clearing with already several nice gray squirrels hanging from his belt. Walter rushed up to him breathless, for he had ran nearly all the way. "Oh, brother ! They are coming !" "Who are coming?'* asked Andrew, looking into the fear-stricken face of the panting boy. Walter having gained some composure, at once made known to his brother what the reader already knows. Andrew felt for him to tarry would be perilous. He had hoped to pay one more visit to his father and mother. He had lived with the expectation of somehow or other meeting with Annie, ere he would take his departure, but now he realized that he must go at once. So handing Walter his rifle and game bag, he signified his readiness to take his leave. The parting of the brothers was like that of a David and Jonathan. Walter watched Andrew until his form was lost in the forest, then with a sad heart and tears in his eyes, he picked up the gun and game-bag and sorrowfully made his way home- ward. All day long he kept a bright look-out for 222 ANDREW BENTLEY. the expected officers but none came ; then the boy was sorrowful, lest he had been mistaken and caused his brother to unnecessarily hasten away. But by noon of the day following, several men with glittering lace bedecked uniforms, mounted upon prancing chargers and with sabres rattling at their sides, swept around the turn in the road, dashed through the village, and drawing rein at Squire Williams' store, dismounted and loudly de- manded feed for their horses. As soon as Walter Bentley saw the troopers rid- ing by he divined their mission, and fearing that his brother might possibly have returned, he dropped everything and took the way across the fields o'er which he had trod the day before. His hasty de- parture was noticed by Henry Williams, who at once repaired to the barn where the officers were attending to the wants of their tired animals, and reported to them that a younger brother was al- ready on the way to warn the deserter of their ap- proach. They at once placed the bit in their horses' mouths, grasped the reins, hastily mounted, and dashed up the road to capture if possible the young traitor, as they called him. Walter was doing some of his best sprinting to cross the road and reach AN ARREST FRUSTRATED, 223 the protection of the forest ere the horsemen inter- cepted him, but he soon found it would be impos- sible for him to do so, and in his extremity, he was obliged to turn and make a bee-line for home. *The troopers dismounted, entered the field and made an attempt to catch the fleeing boy. They threatened to fire if he did not halt, but this only added renewed speed to the flying fofm. He soon out-distanced them, and they were obliged to give up the pursuit. The terrorized boy reached his father's door step faint with exhaustion. Walter's father coming to the house at this crit- ical juncture, and learning from the almost breath- less lad the cause of his wild flight and disturbed condition of mind, became much excited, for he was a man of quick temper and strong determination, and although he was always of a strong Union propensity, his indignation had reached so high a pitch by his son's recital, that he deliberately took down from its place on the wall his old trusty rifle, and ramming down a charge of powder and ball, shouldered it and walked out the road to Squire Williams' grocery store. Here he found the Provost and his men, who *An actual occurrence. 224 ANDREW BENTLEY. had returned from their chase of Walter and were now enjoying a lunch of cheese and crackers, which they washed down with repeated draughts of whisky from a bottle standing upon the counter near them. Henry Williams, who was in the store, observ- ing the approach of Farmer Bentley with his gun, knew that trouble was coming for somebody. He himself was not sure but the old gentleman knew of his conduct towards his son while he was in the army although he had always been civil enough, but Henry did not know how it might be, if the Bentley spirit was aroused. He deemed it best to absent himself just then for fear of an altercation between his neighbor and the officer; so without any remark he quietly slipped out. Farmer Bentley entered the store and at once recognized in the Provost Marshal a character whom he had ofttimes found loafing about the Court House at the county seat, picking up odd jobs and always seemed to be more or less under the influence of strong drink. The ire of the farmer was aroused at the sight of the man, for he always had a contempt for what he termed "the Court House loafer." So in a voice tremulous with anger, he addressed him. AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 22$ "And you are the hound this great govern- ment sends out to hunt up your superiors?" The officer who was already beginning to feel the effects of the liquor he had drank, slid down from the counter, upon which he had been sitting, his face a bright scarlet from the combined effects of anger and his many potations, and in a voice husky with rage fairly shouted : "Who are you that dares address an officer of the government in this manner?" "I am John Bentley, sir, and never debased myself so much as I do now, in addressing you." "Ho ! ho !" said the Provost. "So you are the father of the deserter, and the young traitor we chased a short time ago? I believe the whole squad of you are rebel sympathizers, and I have half a mind to place you under arrest." And as he said this, he swaggered up to the aged man and leered insolently into his face. Quick as a flash the farmer's open hand landed upon the officer's mouth, drawing a trace of blood. The officer sprang back, drew his sword, and made a lunge at his opponent's breast who quickly par- ried it, and was about to charge wi*h clubbed rifle upon the Provost, when his two con.-panions, see- 226 ANDREW BENTLEY. ing the dilemma into which their officer had fallen, immediately rushed to his rescue, threw themselves upon Farmer Bentley, and bore him to the floor where they disarmed him of the weapon, though not without a struggle. Hearing the confusion in the store room, Squire Williams rushed in just in time to prevent the now furious officer from throwing himself upon the unarmed and prostrate farmer. The angry official turned upon the Squire and in his blind passion would have made an assault upon him, had not a number of patrons entered the store at this critical moment and seeing the state of affairs, a part of them proceeded to place them- selves in front of the Squire, while several went to the side of Mr. Bentley and assisted him to rise. Explanations followed to the satisfaction of the Squire ; but not so with Farmer Bentley. He felt far from being vanquished and wished to challenge the officer to a test with weapons, or without them. But the counsel of his neighbors prevailed, and picking up his rifle, he left the store, not deigning to bestow even a glance towards his opponent. The Provost and his associates soon left to loojc up the deserter. Quite an extended search was AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 22/ made by the officer and his men ; houses through- out the neighborhood were ransacked from cellar to attic, * feather beds were thrown upon the floor and trampled upon, in the vain hope of finding the object of their search. Barns and out-houses were not forgotten, but all in vain. One house alone escaped their examination, and that was the Bent- ley homestead. Perhaps the officer deemed it hardly prudent to do so, but the prize they looked for had eluded them. So after a fruitless search of almost the entire neighborhood, it was with con- siderable chagrin they took their apparent depart- ure, riding away with a great show of braggadocia and indifference. But this was all for effect. There rankled in the breast of the Provost Marshal a desire for revenge. The attack of Farmer Bentley upon those sent out to hunt up his son Andrew proved in the end to be disastrous, for the officer in charge, feeling that his quarry had escaped him, and to satisfy the feeling aroused in him against the deserter's father, after fortifying himself from the contents of a black bottle he carried with him, he ordered a halt. Then declaring to his companions that he did *An actual occurrence. 228 ANDREW BENTLEY. not purpose to return without some trophy of the chase, he bade them follow him, and striking spurs into the sides of their steeds, they galloped back to the home of Farmer Bentley. The old gentleman and his companion had just completed their noon-day meal, Walter had gone to a neighbor's upon an errand, and the aged cou- ple were congratulating themselves upon the de- parture of the Provost Marshal and his men, when a clattering of horses hoof's were heard, soon fol- lowed by loud voices at the door, and ere they could arise to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, the door was rudely swung ajar, and in walked the three men whose departure they had just been re- joicing over. Farmer Bentley hastily arose and in an indig- nant tone demanded, "Why this intrusion?" The Provost, with a great show of bravado drew his sword and insolently declared the aged man under arrest. "Your contemptible declaration does not make it so !" replied Farmer Bentley hotly. The valiant officer remembering his former ex perience with the man who now confronted him and being just sober enodgh to keep out of danger, AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 22g ordered his sergeant to place Farmer Bentley un- der arrest. That official obeying the command of his su- perior, stepped forward and laid his hand upon the shoulder of the farmer, when to his sudden surprise he received a stinging blow upon the temple, which sent him to the floor in an unconscious condition. Quick as a flash the Provost drew his pistol, and we cannot predict what the result might have been had not at that moment Judge Preston appeared in the door way. The scene that confronted him caused him to pause in surprise. There stood the aged father with clenched hands, his silvery hair falling in ring- lets from his broad forehead, his face pale with sup- pressed anger, while from his steel blue eyes there flashed a dangerous light. At his feet lay the burly sergeant, whose head had come in contact with the clenched fist of the irate farmer. The Provost stood with pistol in hand ready to fire, while a little in the rear stood the cavalry trooper apparently in doubt whether to interfere with his superior or not. "What does this mean?" said the Judge, taking it all in at a glance, and addressing the Provost. The officer lowered his weapon, and turning 23O ANDREW BENTLEY. toward the Judge, he politely bowed and curtly remarked: "Mr. Bentley has already twice at- tempted to interfere with Government officers in the discharge of their duty, and we were about to teach him a wholesome lesson." "But I cannot see the necessity for the use of deadly weapons/' replied. the Judge with feeling. "Surely you don't mean to make an assault upon a defenseless man? Three against one, and with fire -arms is hardly fair," and the Judge found his choler rising. The officer mumbled some reply and placing his pistol back in his pocket, said he hoped that Mr. Bentley would give them no occasion to use vio- lence. "But what is required of my neighbor?" said the Judge testily, whose Scotch blood was up, and he felt he could not allow his old friend to suffer any indignity from officers and soldiers in the dis- charge of what they pleased to term their duty. "Judge Preston," replied the officer, "we pro- pose to take this man with us," pointing to Farmer Bentley. "He has placed himself amenable to mil- itary law by his unwarrantable attack upon us the other day, and again to-day in resisting an arrest." AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 23 1 And he pointed to the sergeant upon the floor, who was showing signs of returning consciousness. "Too bad! Too bad!" said the Judge. "But why drag the man away from his home? I will gladly go his security for any amount." "Sorry we cannot accommodate you," said the officer, "but Mr. Bentley must go with us and ans- wer to a higher authority." "Surely you don't mean to tear this old man away from his family in this manner? Mr. Bent- ley is, and always has been a staunch Union man, and what he may have done is only through excite- ment. Can you not forego his arrest at this time?" But the officer was stubborn and would not yield. He would only allow sufficient time to se- cure a conveyance; for the long distance, and age of Farmer Bentley, would not permit the warm- hearted Judge to think of his old neighbor walking, although the brutal officer determined to make his man walk, rather than return without some show of the chase. Farmer Bentley had remained silent during the controversy. His temper had cooled somewhat, and when the Judge approached him he was ready 232 ANDREW BENTLEY. to confer with him, for he knew him to be always a warm, true friend. It was decided he should go with the Provost, the Judge agreeing to accompany him, and see what could be done for his neighbor at the county seat. So Farmer Bentley's hired man was called and ordered to prepare the horses and the old family carriage for the journey. In a short time it was an- nounced that everything was ready, and the ser- geant having recovered his senses by this time, the officer and his men were in the saddle waiting. Farmer Bentley had not been absent from his aged companion for many years, and he felt that his going would be a severe blow to her, but she bore up bravely, although there was a perceptible moisture in her eyes and a tremor in her voice as she bade him good-bye. Walter had insisted on driving th& carriage, but this would leave no one at home with his mother, so he was obliged to relinquish in favor of the hired man. The cavalcade moved off with Judge Preston and Farmer Bentley in the carriage, the Provost riding a few rods in advance, while the sergeant AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 233 and cavalry trooper brought up the rear, in the form of a guard. The sergeant was in a sulky mood and rode along in silence. However, his companion could not resist the opportunity to twit him, asking him "How hard Farmer Bentley's fist felt as it rested on his cranium?" And "whether he had made up his mind upon which he would wear, his forage cap, his natural head or the bump, lately raised upon it?" To which the sergeant made some angry reply, well interspersed with profanity. The journey was long and tiresome, but in due time they arrived at their destination. The Provost with the spirit characteristic of the man, wished to carry his prisoner to the confines of the public jail, but to this, Judge Preston would not consent. His aged friend should not suffer such indignity if he could prevent it. He declared he would accompany his friend if he were forced to enter the jail. So after thinking the matter over, the Provost officer decided to lodge Mr. Bentley with the Sheriff, taking the Judge's recognizance for his good behavior. The Judge went at once to hunt up General White, whom he learned was at home for a time, recovering from a wound he had received in battle. 234 ANDREW BENTLEY. His object was to have the General use his influence for the release of his old friend. But the Judge was doomed to disappointment, for when he reached the General's residence, he learned with re- gret that the soldier had returned to the seat of war a few days before. However, not discouraged, he directed his steps toward the office of Major Cribbs, who was in command of that Military District. The Judge knew him to be a kind and obliging officer. He was pleased to find the Major in, and at once related to him the whole circumstance leading to the arrest of his neighbor. He urged on the commandant to consider the years of his friend and to treat him as kindly as possible. The Major promised to do all he could for Mr. Bentley, though he said it might be sometime before the matter would come up as the Marshal had first to make his report, and then if it was thought neces- sary a military court might be called to try the case. The Judge finding he could not do much more to befriend his neighbor, called upon him at the sheriff's office and related to him what he had done. He bade his old friend to be of good cheer for he would do all in his power for his release, then bidding him good-bye, he took his journey home- ward. INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 23$ CHAPTER XV. INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. HE news of Farmer Bentley 's arrest by the Provost Marshal and his minions and their carrying him off to the county seat, caused quite a stir in the com- munity and not a few were the harsh things said about the officials, for though they were all loyal, Union loving people, they had great regard for the entire Bentley family, and could not endorse any ill treatment of them. Some of the younger element who had learned something of Henry Williams' cowardice while in the army, and believing him to be instrumental in having the Provost and his guard come to hunt down Andrew Bentley, now turned upon that worthy gentleman and there were grave fears that the thing would end up with an application of "tar and feathers." But older counsel prevailed. However, the title of his army days was revived and kept up with vigor for a long time. All the while, 236 ANDREW BENTLEY. Henry kept close to his father's house, never going out much at night. In a short time, a petition was widely circulated and signed, praying for the release of John M. Bentley, of N , now in the custody of the military authorities at G . This was sent off to the Governor at H , and it was hoped that favorable news would soon come from that direction. This reaching the Executive Chamber at a time when the Governor was out of town, the paper was placed on file, where like many other documents, before and since, it was allowed to remain appar- ently forgotten. Judge Preston had made re- peated visits to the county seat, but each time failed to receive anything encouraging for his waiting friend on whom the situation, while really not a confinement, was having its effect. At home the anxiety for the release of the hus- band and father increased. They had received a letter from Andrew, and written a reply, but had mentioned nothing of the trouble that had befallen them. No court of inquiry had yet been convened and a fortnight had already passed, and Walter could INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 237 not fail to see that the suspense was wearing upon his loved mother. "Something must be done," said the lad in an emphatic manner, coming in one morning. "Father must be released at any cost." "What can be done, my son?" said the aged mother. "I'm sure our kind neighbor, Judge Preston, has done all that any one could do to bring your father back to us." But Walter had a plan he had revealed to no one. Persuading his mother to make a short visit to a relative living in an adjoining county, he has- tened to prepare himself for a journey. He first visited the county seat and secured a petition hav- ing the signatures of all men of prominence there, for many of them knew Walter's father personally. This paper set forth the qualities of the Bent- ley's as true loving Union people, and praying for the return of Mr. Bentley to his family. Walter called upon his father and held a short conversa- tion with him, but did not say a word about the petition or what he intended to do. After pass- ing an hour or two with his parent, he bade him good-bye, saying that he hoped to have a pleasant surprise for him before long. The boy went out and made his way to the rail- 238 ANDREW BENTLEY. way station where he purchased a ticket for Wash- ington, for Walter had a plan before him to visit the Secretary of War in his father's behalf. The fare being considerable, the boy after an examination of his remaining funds, found he would not have much money to spend outside of his return ticket. But had he not said that his father must be released at any cost? And the brave boy was willing to make any sacrifice in his father's be- half. The express soon drew up at the station, and Walter taking passage aboard, found himself being carried rapidly toward the capitol city of the nation. Arriving at his destination at the close of day, the boy felt that he could not afford to go to a hotel, so he sought less expensive accommodations for the night. Next morning he was up bright and early. He made a few inquiries at the place where he ate his breakfast, and there learned that he could not gain an admittance to any of the public buildings until after nine o'clock. He therefore contented him- self with walking up to the capitol building and taking a view of its massive exterior, but as soon as the clocks in the city pealed out the hour of nine, he hastened to the War "Department building and INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 239 sought an interview with the Secretary, to whom he presented the petition he had with him. The Secretary closely examined the paper and turning to the boy, kindly asked him to relate the facts incident to his father's arrest, which Walter did in a straightforward manner, omitting noth- ing. The Secretary smiled pleasantly on the lad for he could not help but admire his spirit. He took the petition, made a few notes on the back of it and handed it over to a clerk, sitting at a desk near by, then turning to Walter said, "Well, my boy, we will attend to this matter in a few days." "A few days?" gasped the lad. "Can't you do it now?" The poor boy had so fondly anticipated carrying back with him his father's release, and he had not come to Washington prepared to make a stay of even a few days. The Secretary looked up with an amused ex- pression on his grave face. "Yes, my boy, I said a few days. Do you think the business of this great government is fully up to date?" "Yes, but this is only a small matter," replied the boy. "I am not prepared to stay and await your decision," and he felt the red come and go in his face. "It is not necessary for you to remain," said the 24O ANDREW BENTLEY. Secretary in a kindly tone, for he saw that the boy had met with a disappointment. "I will attend to this in due time, never fear," and with this he turned to his stenographer and began dictating a letter. Walter thanked the Secretary for the audience he had given him and bowed himself out, but it was with a heavy heart that he took his way down the avenue In the exuberance of his youthful spirit, he had pictured himself returning to his home car- rying with him the paper that would give freedom to his aged father. After leaving the War and Navy building, he could not fail to notice on his right, standing in among the trees, a fine spacious building having a beautiful green lawn in front reaching down to the street. Noticing the entrance to the grounds being open and apparently inviting one to enter, the boy did so, and slowly walked up the drive-way leading to the building. Walter was pleased to see that everything about the place bore evidence of having the greatest care and attention. The lawn being well covered with grass and kept closely mowed. The drive-way appeared as though it had been lately swept and everything about the place evinced AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 24! the care and attention bestowed upon it. While he was drinking in the beauty of his surroundings, he noticed a tall angular man come down the steps, that led up to the building. He had by his side a small boy who held his hand as they walked. Walter was singularly attracted by the appearance of the man coming towards him. He felt sure he had met this man somewhere before, for his face seemed familiar. It was not what one would call a handsome face, but there was that about it that seemed to impel you to take a second look. The gentleman approaching him was not showily dressed, but an air of neatness per- vaded his whole attire. His long coat and high silk hat made him appear to the eyes of the won- dering boy, as the tallest man he had ever seen. The little lad walking by the gentleman's side appeared to be of a delicate build, not rugged nor possessing the romping spirit usual with boys of his age. He walked along quietly by his father's side,, holding his hand while the tall man would fre- quently speak to him, and look down with an earn- est solicitude upon the boy at his side. Walter at first felt like avoiding the couple ad- vancing towards him, but no opportunity present- ing itself, he stood his ground, and as they ap- 16 242 ANDREW BENTLEY. preached, he politely lifted his cap and inquired of the tall man if he would be kind enough to tell him the name of the building before him. The gentleman paused and with a smile light- ing up his care worn face, kindly replied, "That, my lad, is what many people call the White House." "Oh!" interjected Walter, in breathless aston- ishment, for all of a sudden he realized he was standing in the presence of a man, upon whose ac- tions at that time, the eyes of the whole civilized world were fixed with intense interest. Yes, he was face to face with Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. Now he recalled why the man's face had seemed so familiar ; he had ofttimes studied that same face in his father's home, for was not his bed room adorned with a picture of this same great man? "You seem to be a stranger in the city, my boy?" And again the grave face of the man be- fore him lit up with a smile, for it was refreshing to the President to meet a face like that of Walter's in which the lines of cunning deception had not been drawn. He saw in the lad before him a counterpart of himself years ago, when he was a country boy learning his first lesson of life's hardships away out Q 3 Q I, an QQ > . i "" _ ~ " You seem to tc a stran ;er in the city, my boy ?" AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 245 in the wilds of Indiana. And as he looked upon the young man before him, his heart was irresistibly drawn toward this young stranger, who did not seem to know much of the city. Walter blushed and in reply to the President's inquiry modestly stated that he had arrived in Washington only the day before. "And may I ask if you are here visiting the city as a sight-seer, and are you alone?" The boy felt that the man before him had a right to ask anything, and an undisputed right to a reply. So he stated that he was alone, and upon a matter of business that concerned him very much. Walter really doubted the propriety of relating his troubles to the great President of the United States, but then he had read that Abraham Lincoln was a warm-hearted man, and of kindly impulse towards those in trouble. The President's face now took upon it a look of fatherly interest, and in a voice, the tone of which was musical and full of feeling, he proceeded to further interrogate the boy and soon drew from Walter the entire story of his brother's desertion, and his return to the army by advice of his father ; the coming of the Provost and his father's impru- dent attack upon them ; his arrest and detention at 246 ANDREW BENTLEY. the county seat ; their seeming inability to have him released; then of the journey to Washington to see the Secretary, and the presenting of the petition he carried to him. "And what did Stanton say?" interrogated the President, who had all the while been an attentive listener. "He said he would give it his attention in a few days," replied Walter. "But I cannot afford to re- main any length of time waiting, and I had so fondly hoped to carry back with me a release for my father." "You say that by advice of your father, your brother returned to the army?" "Yes, sir," replied the wondering boy. The President mused for a few moments, then repeated as though to himself, "Surely a father who would advise the return of his son to the army can- not be considered as being disloyal to his country." Turning to the lad, he said, "Come with me ; the boy who is willing to make so long a journey in be- half of a helpless parent, should not return without a reward." And he led the way back to the White House, ascending the steps and pointing to a room on the left, bade Walter enter and amuse AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 247 himself until his return. Then leaving him, he made his way to his private office. Walter entered the spacious room indicated, and was lost in amazement. He had never been in a room before so large, and so luxuriosly furnished, everything seemed to be in such perfect harmony of color, sky-blue walls, ceiling, carpet, and even furniture all seemed to blend together. The boy felt that he dared hardly tread upon the rich carpet, and to sit down upon one of the richly upholstered sofas, Oh, no! he dared not think of attempting it. While he stood cap in hand, taking a survey of the room, and its rich furnishings, he was awak- ened from the spell which had come over him by the return of the President, who handed him a neatly folded paper, telling him "he might now re- turn home and present the document to the officer in charge of that Military District, saying it was with the 'Compliments of Abraham Lincoln.' ' Tears of joy and gratitude welled up in Walter's eyes, for he realized he held in his hand his father's pardon, signed by the President of the United States. With a quivering voice, he thanked the great 248 ANDREW BENTLEY. man before him who now seemed to Walter to loom up taller than ever. "Never mind, my boy," said the President, "al- ways be faithful and true to your parents while they live, and you will never lose by it." And with this he extended him a large, bony hand whjch though strong and sinewy, seemed to the grateful boy to have a touch like unto velvet. "Good-bye, my brave little man ; remember that when you want anything that no one else has time to attend to, don't fail to call upon Abraham Lin- coln," and with a quaint smile over-spreading his face, he accompanied the now happy Walter to the door and bowed him out. The lad sped back to the railway depot with a heart throbbing with joy. He had no time to take in the sights of a great city, though they were many and quite tempting. He found the express for the West ready to start in half an hour; just enough time for him to purchase a ticket and gulp down a sandwich and a cup of coffee at the lunch counter. After boarding the train, he found time to ex- amine his precious document. So carefully un- folding it, he gazed long and earnestly upon its contents. He could scarcely believe his senses, AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 249 but there it was and no mistake. A full and com- plete pardon of all charges made against John M. Bentley, of N , Pa., and signed, too, by Abra- ham Lincoln. Oh, how he wished he could keep that paper just to show the signature to the boys in the village of N . He was so absorbed in looking at the precious paper before him, that he failed to notice the ap- proach of the conductor, until that worthy shook him by the shoulder and said sharply, "Tickets!" Then Walter was brought back to his present sur- roundings and hastily searched every pocket but the right one ; at last to his great relief, he found the required piece of pasteboard, which he handed to the "Knight of the Punch," who appeared to be enjoying the lad's confusion. The train seemed to Walter to crawl along at a snail's pace, so impatient was he to reach his home, but at last it arrived at G (the county seat) about midnight, and Walter, hunting up a place to spend the balance of the night, after first making sure that his paper was still safe in his pocket, with- out disrobing threw himself across the bed and soon sank into a heavy slumber, for the boy's nerves had been at a high tension for the past two days. The tired lad slept soundly, but with the ANDREW BENTLEY. coming of morning was astir, and after securing a breakfast, he waited impatiently for the hour when he might find the military official in his office. It came at last, and it was with no little degree of pride that he waited upon that officer and presented his paper. -\ Major Cribbs adjusted his glasses and pro- ceeded to peruse the document. "Bless my stars, boy, but you are a trump !" he exclaimed as he read the signature. "And did you get this paper your- self?" Walter answered in the affirmative, and the officer turning, grasped him heartily by the hand, saying he was mighty glad to see a boy with such a spirit. He at once ordered the release of Mr. Bentley, and we need not say the meeting of father and son was a joyful one. "So this is the surprise you promised me, my son?" said the proud father. "Well, you have shown what a determined spirit may be able to do, and you surely have a father's gratitude." Together they journeyed homeward, and the return of father and son was a joyful surprise to the aged mother. Truly there was a great time of re- joicing in the Bentley homestead. Judge Preston AN ARREST FRUSTRATED. 251 xame over to compliment Walter upon the success of his mission for he had learned of his securing the petition at the county seat. The news of Walter's adventure getting abroad, he was for a time the hero of the village, and many were the interviews sought of him by young and old, to learn just how the President looked and how he talked, and what Walter thought of the White House. And thus he had to tell the story over and over again, while the boy did his best to impress upon his auditors that the man who occupied the White House was a very worthy occupant for such a pretentious edifice. 252 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER XVI. AGAIN A SOLDIER-VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. ET us now see how it has been faring w **k t ^ ie k ero * our stor y* Andrew Bentley, after taking leave of his brother Walter on the morning re- ferred to, set his face resolutely in the direction of the railway. His blood burned in his veins with resentment. To be hunted down like a wild ani- mal was a very bitter reflection. He avoided the highways as much as possible. He felt depressed in spirit, for was he not being forced away without a farewell blessing from father and mother, and then he had failed to get even a line from Annie. But his mind was made up, he would be a ref- ugee no longer. He never doubted his love for the flag of his country. It was still dear to him, but he would serve under it of his own voluntary choice, and prove his loyalty to his country's cause. His aim was to strike the railroad at a station some distance from N . Noon-time arriv- ing, he managed to secure his dinner at a farm AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 253 house by the way, then trudged slowly on, and by nightfall he found himself nearing a way-station many miles distant from N . This was a coaling station, and Andrew knew that trains both eastward and westward bound stopped at this place for coal, and would thus afford him a good opportunity to get on board. He had not long to wait, for in the distance his quick ear caught the sound of an approaching train. Soon the whistle sounded down brakes, and in a few moments the east-bound express drew up, stopped, and proceeded to take coal. This was Andrew's opportunity and he quickly swung him- self up the steps and entered the car. Travel being heavy, the car was crowded, and it was with some difficulty Andrew could secure a seat. At last finding one, he sank down wearily into it and awaited the coming of the conductor. That necessary contingent to all passenger railway trains put in an appearance and our weary traveler not having a ticket, handed him a bank-note, quietly remarking, "One fare to Philadelphia." The necessary change was returned to him and the collector of fares, after giving him a close scrutiny, moved on. Andrew left to himself, settled down in his seat 254 ANDREW BENTLEY. to ruminate over the events of the past few weeks. He felt that he had made a mistake in leaving the ranks, but yet he did not have a feeling of regret, for now he was about to enter upon an entire dif- ferent service from that which he had left behind so unceremoniously on that May day in the Wil- derness. He had his mind made up what he would do upon reaching the city towards which he was fast hastening. Everybody in N by this time felt con- vinced that Andrew Bentley had not been lost on the battlefield as they had believed, but that he had returned home without permission was quite evi- dent, else why this visit of the Provost and his men. That they had failed to secure him was a source of much satisfaction to many of his friends. But of his whereabouts they were at a loss to know. Henry Williams was still at work in his father's store. He did not mingle much in society, for he felt that his attitude towards the Bentley' s did not meet the approval of the community, although his dastardly attempts in two instances to do Andrew Bentley violence had never been exposed, Andrew deeming it better not to inform any of the folks at home of Henry's conduct towards him. AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 2$$ The war spirit was still in the ascendency, and nearly all of the male members of the Academy of N having reached the proper age, had en- listed and gone to the front, and it was now no un- usual thing to find at an evening gathering of the young folks, that those of the gentler sex far out- numbered those of the sterner sort. So Henry Williams was practically what the youth of the village dubbed him, 'The Home Guard," but he preferred to endure all the epithets they might hurl at him in preference to a soldier's life. His army experience was far from being a pleasant remembrance. He felt that fortune had not favored him. His desire to possess the hand of the fair Annie Pres- ton grew with every attempt to interview her. Had his valor as a soldier proven as great as that of a lover, Henry Williams would not have suffered for renown upon the field of fame. Although Henry had met with almost absolute defeat, he still held tenaciously to the thought that some day her heart might soften towards him, and more es- pecially now, since his rival, Andrew Bentley, was under a cloud. How fortunate he thought it was that he had witnessed Andrew's return and learned that he was 256 ANDREW BENTLEY. a deserter from the ranks. It had placed him in his power, and he mentally resolved he would be upon the lookout should the deserter again return, for Henry was in total ignorance of Andrew's move- ments and so far as the rest of the Bentley family was concerned, they maintained a feeling of reserve towards the family of Squire Williams. In August of this year, Captain George Coulter and Lieutenant Alpheus Forrest came home on a veteran furlough. Their time of service having ex- pired, both had re-enlisted and were now proudly wearing their veteran stripes. Truly they were the lions of the day, and were petted and made of, to their heart's content. But while the young patriots were being lion- ized at home, what of Andrew Bentley? The train on which he traveled landed him safe in the city of "Brotherly love," and he had gone at once to a restaurant to refresh the inner man. Then next, to a tonsorial artist where he received a shave and hair cut, which so much improved his appearance that we doubt if he would have been readily recognized by the loving Walter. Next he hunted up a recruiting office, which soon being found, he entered and in a short time was enrolled under the name of James Bentley in Company M AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 257 of the nd Pennsylvania Cavalry. His full name had been that of James Andrew, and as he had formerly been enrolled as Andrew, he now con- cluded he would try his fortunes under the cogno- men of James. Had Annie Preston been there, she would surely have admired the handsome athletic young soldier, who merged from the recruiting office clad in his bright new cavalry uniform. James, as we must now call him, was an entire stranger in the city, but he did not have a long time for sight seeing, for new recruits were being rap- idly hurried on to the front, and soon he, with a number of others, were sent forward to Camp Stoneman near Annapolis, Md., this being a ren- dezvous for dismounted cavalry men. It was from this place our hero sent his first let- ter home relating his experience. It was a wel- come message to a sorrowing father and mother, as well as a waiting brother. This letter did much to cheer them and lighten the gloom that hung over them ever since the boy's return home. James also wrote a long letter to Annie Preston. It was full of love and tenderness. He stated how he had all the time felt a thralldom while serving as. a drafted man ; that when he left the ranks it was. 17 2$8 ANDREW BENTLEY. with no thought of really deserting his colors, but one step had led to another. But now he was re- tracing them, and his whole aim was to prove worthy of his calling. He begged of her to over- look his past indiscretion and allow him to hold his place as of old in her affections. He entreated her to write to him, if only a line, but to address him as James instead of Andrew, that being the name under which he was enrolled. He explained that he had done this to avoid any trouble that might arise from his old regiment, and as it was a part of his surname, it was perfectly legal for him to do so. Much else did our soldier boy write, which could not help but find its way to Annie's heart. In due time Annie received this missive of love, and as she read it, she could not help but feel that she had been a little harsh and perhaps too severe in her criticism of her lover's actions. James had enclosed a tin-type picture of himself taken in his new cavalry uniform, upon which An- nie gazed long and earnestly, each moment feeling her heart warming with love and affection for the honest manly face that looked out at her from the picture. The barriers of pride were swept away, and she at once repaired to her room to write a long, lov- AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 259 ing reply to James, to assure him of her affection. This letter was sent over to the post office at N by the hired man, but sad to relate it went no farther. Henry Williams, doing most of the work in his father's store, had been deputized to handle the mail, so when he came to put up the evening mail, he noticed the letter addressed to James Bentley and recognizing Annie Preston's handwriting, in the wickedness of his heart he concluded it would be perfectly proper for him to look into its con- tents, so instead of finding its w r ay into the mail- sack, it found its way into Henry's pocket. Mail came to Camp Stoneman for James Bent- ley, but not the letter he so eagerly looked for. In a few days, horses being received, the entire com- mand was sent forward to join the regiment at the front, and our hero once more found himself upon Virginia soil. James was at a loss to know why he had re- ceived no letter from Annie Preston. He thought it barely possible that his letter had gone astray, and having changed camp, he concluded he would write once again, so sitting down, he carefully penned another long epistle to the only woman in the world for him, pleading with her, that if he had 26O ANDREW BENTLEY. lost his place in her heart, to at least pen him a word of farewell. This he carried over to Brandy Sta- tion and mailed it himself, not trusting it to go out in the regimental mail. This letter, like Annie's, did not pass beyond the N post office, for when the mail came in that winter evening, the jeal- ous eyes of Henry signaled it out and transferred it to his own pocket, for he felt sure it was from his old rival. When Judge Preston returned home with the mail that evening and threw it upon the center ta- ble, Annie found none from her lover, which caused her a pang of disappointment, for it was now some weeks since she had written to him, and she was sure he would have answered it ere this, if all had been well. Thus she waited, each mail day, ex- pecting a letter, and each time suffering disappoint- ment, and so the winter days went by. Henry Williams was obliged to admire Annie at a distance for she never went to places where she would likely meet him. She had a feel- ing that he had played the part of a spy upon An- drew when he came home, and her honorable soul rose in indignation at the thought of it. She knew he was base, but did not for a moment think he was guilty of tampering with the mail, and the cause AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 26 1 of so much disappointment to her. Chance, how- ever, threw them together one evening at a little surprise party given to a worthy couple in the vil- lage, and Henry thought it best to improve his op- portunity. He patiently waited until he found Annie alone, and seating himself by her side tried to open up a conversation. He began by asking if she would not at least show him the courtesy of a neighbor. She said she hoped she always had, but as her time was much engaged, she could devote but lit- tle to pleasure. "Yes, I suppose," said Henry, "your corres- pondence with the boys at the front must take a good part of your time." "Annie's face burned with this insult and she replied hotly, "It would be more profitable to spend all my time in writing letters to cheer our brave soldiers than to waste one moment talking to a 'cowardly stay at-home/ " and rising she abruptly left him. It was Henry's turn to be angry and as he looked after her he muttered under his breath, "Write all you want to, but little good will it do you." 262 ANDREW BENTLEY. Annie could not bear the suspense of her lover's silence. She paid a visit to Farmer Bentley's, al- though her visits of late had not been so frequent but she wanted to learn something of her Andrew (she best loved to call him by that name). She found the father and mother had been receiving let- ters from him regularly, that all had been going well. The father stated with a ring of pride in his voice that James had been made the "orderly ser- geant" of his company and that he proposed stay- ing till the close of the war. Annie was much annoyed to think that letters were passing regularly between James and his par- ents, but no reply to hers. She, however, pro- cured his address, hastened home and another let- ter was written, this time not so long for she could not think but that James must surely have received her other letter, and hence we must excuse her for feeling a bit piqued. She mailed this letter with the prayer that it might bring her back an answer, if only just a line. Had she not been brought up with the highest sense of honor, she might have had a suspicion that all was not right in the office at home. The same with James, he did not dream of any one daring to intercept his letters. He had written again, but no AGAIN A SOLDIER VILLAINY OF WILLIAMS. 263 reply, and so it was that they both waited and watched in vain. Annie felt hurt; she had fully and freely for- given her soldier boy lover, but his silence was kill- ing her. She grew weary and hollow-eyed with disappointment after disappointment, until at last she lost interest in the coming of the mail. She would occasionally hear through other sources of the heroism and daring of James Bentley for, failing to receive any news from Annie, James grew indifferent to his surroundings. Naturally brave and courageous, he became daring even to recklessness. In the battle of Waynesborough, in which his regiment was engaged, he personally captured five infantrymen of an Alabama regi- ment and brought them, unaided, into the Union lines. For this act, he was made first lieutenant of his company. Again when the attack was made on Fort Steadman, March 25th, he won promi- nence by boldly scaling the breastworks and snatch- ing the Confederate colors from the flag staff, bear- ing them off in triumph. This won him the bars of a captain, and the pa- pers at home as well as those abroad, spoke in glow- ing terms of the daring young cavalry officer. Annie heard all this in her home, and felt in her 264 ANDREW BENTLEY. heart a secret joy that her once soldier lover was gaining such renown. "James Andrew Bentley is comin' out on top after all," said old Cobbler King, who had watched the movements of his favorite. This was said one morning in Squire Williams' store. "Yes," said the Squire, "it will likely be nip and tuck betwixt him and our boy George. Well, I don't envy either of them their honors ; they both deserve it." BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 265 CHAPTER XVII. BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. IEUTENANT Forrest and his comrade, returned to the front at the expiration of their furlough and, taking part in an engagement which took place soon after their return, the martial career of Alpheus was sud- denly cut short by his receiving a serious wound in the breast. They deemed it best to send the young officer direct home, as he would be thus insured more careful nursing than would fall to his lot in the crowded hospitals. So the wounded soldier was soon back under his father's roof. But Alpheus felt that he had only come home to die. His wound while not painful, was daily sapping his life blood. He lay quietly for hours during the bright Autumnal days, looking out upon the fields and meadows in which he had so often played when a boy, and which he would never tread again. His thoughts were no doubt dwelling far out on "Sw,eet fields beyond the swelling flood, All dressed in living green," 266 ANDREW BENTLEY. For Alpheus had received the witness of the Spirit and was only awaiting the call of the great Commander. It came at the close of a mild October day, and the young soldier answered "ready," and went out to that land where they know no war. For the third time the quiet people of N were called to mourn, and now they fol- lowed in funeral procession to the burial ground where they laid the body of the young martyr. It was not long after the attack upon Fort Steadman, and while Captain Bentley's daring act of snatching the Confederate colors from the hands of the apparent victors, was yet the talk of the camp, that the Commander-in-Chief sat in council with some of his officers. They were discussing the best plan of making a "coup-de-grace" upon the enemy's forces. As their deliberations assumed shape, it was evident that a trusty courier would be needed to carry the plan agreed upon to Sheridan, who was then in the neighborhood of Bermuda Hundred. It was Grant's purpose to effect a coalition of the force under the daring cavalry chieftain with BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 26/ that of his own, and at once compel the evacuation or surrender of Petersburg. After all the details had been discussed the question arose as to a trusty and reliable messen- ger, to carry the message to Sheridan. Various names were suggested but none seemed practicable. Looking up from the map which he had been intently studying, and directing his attention to General Warren, who formed one of the council, Grant quietly said : "General, who is that young cavalry officer that so distinguished himself at the assault on Fort Steadman the other day, and of whom I have been hearing such favorable reports of late?" "That is Captain Bentley, of Colonel Gray's command," replied Warren, "and a fine, daring young soldier he is," he added warmly. "Think you he would be willing to carry a mes- sage to Sheridan?" inquired Grant. "I think Captain Bentley would be ready and willing to undertake anything you might require of him in the line of a soldier's duty," answered General Warren. "His colonel tells me he has never known him to shrink from a single responsi- 268 ANDREW BENTLEY. bility since he joined his regiment, and I believe he entered as a private. A pleased smile lit up the grave face of the silent chieftain, and he quietly remarked: "Gentlemen, give me an army of soldiers and officers like that, and I will end this rebellion to-morrow." It was decided to send an orderly to the head- quarters of the colonel of the , Penna. Cav- alry, and ask him to have Captain Bentley, of his regiment, to report at once to the comanding gen- eral. It had been an unusually warm day for so early in the spring, and the evening was sultry. Captain Bentley having just returned to camp from a season of picket duty as officer of the guard, was feeling somewhat worn and fatigued from his long vigil. He had thrown aside his uniform coat, loos- ened his cravat, and was sitting within his tent quietly enjoying the fragrance of his cigar, while he examined his mail which lay upon the table be- fore him, when he heard hasty steps approaching. In a few minutes the flaps of his tent were parted, and the familiar face of Colonel Gray appeared in the opening. BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 269 "Hellow, Bentley ! I am glad to find you in ; T have a particular request for you." "Pray what is it?" responded Bentley, with an inquiring look in his handsome eyes. "Can't say," replied the officer. "All I know is Grant has sent for you to report at once to his headquarters." "Grant!" ejaculated Captain Bentley in aston- ishment. "Wonder what he can possibly want with me?" "I can't say," again reiterated the colonel ; "only make haste, for 'taps' will soon be sounded. Good night, Captain. May you have a pleasant interview with the general," and with this Colonel Gray took his departure. Bentley at once donned his coat, buckled on his sword belt, then extinguishing his light he quickly made his way toward the headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief, all the while his mind in a quandary as to the import of the call, for he had never before be summoned into the presence of this great leader of men. As he neared the locality he recognized the place occupied by the General, it being a small frame house with portico and yard in front, before which a sentry paced restlessly up and down, while 2/O ANDREW BENTLEY. on the portico stood a trooper of his own com- mand who was acting then in the capacity of an or- derly for the General. Passing the sentry in the yard, Bentley ascended the steps and inquired of the orderly where he might find Grant. The soldier led the way to a room on the right of the hall, rapped lightly on the door, and at the invitation to "Come in," opened it and with the announcement of "Captain Bentley," quickly with- drew, leaving the young officer with this simple in- troduction, standing in the presence of the man who at that time held in his hand the reins of abso- lute control of all military power. Bentley gave the military salute and stood at attention. Grant raised his eyes from a map which he had been closely examining, and in a quiet tone bade him be seated, then resumed the study of the map before him. Bentley took a seat upon the opposite side of the table and was now privileged to inspect at short range the man whose name and fame was spread broadcast over all the land. He seemed to be only an ordinary man in gen- eral appearance, no show of military pomp and splendor, characteristic of many generals that BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. Bentley had seen in camp and on the field of ser- vice. This man before him, at whose word of command legions would move without question, seemed unassuming in his manner and surely was plain and simple in his dress. His head was bare, and as it was slightly bent over the map, which lay upon the table, Bentley could clearly discern the perfect contour and formation of it, while, al- though the face was partly hidden by a short red- dish brown beard, he could still see the square for- mation of the jaw, indicative of the strength and decision of character that had characterized its owner in all his movements. In a few moments Grant quietly folded the pa- per, looked up and with a pleasant smile, said as he extended his hand across the table, "Captain Bent- ley, I believe? I have heard favorably of you from your superiors and have sent for you." Bentley's heart throbbed with a feeling of hon- est pride and gratification, such as he had never known since his first entrance into the army, and in the confusion for the moment that came over him, he merely bowed his acknowledgement. "Captain Bentley," continued Grant, not ap- parently noticing the officer's embarrassment, "I have a duty for a trusty messenger to perform, and 272 ANDREW BENTLEY. as such we have selected you." It would be need- less to say that the flush in Bentley's face height- ened at this announcement. "The information which you are asked to carry is of vital importance, and should only be surren- dered with life itself. Yes, I might add not even then, for means should be taken to place it beyond the reach of any who should not possess it," and with this he placed upon the table four ordinary cartridges, such as were then in use by the cavalry who carried a repeating carbine in addition to their sabre. The General noticing the puzzled look upon Captain Bentley's face, proceeded to explain. "Two of these cartridges contain bullets hollowed out, in which is placed a communication I desire very much to be placed in the hands of General Sheridan, now at Bermuda Hundred, with the greatest possible dispatch. "Part of the way will be through a section of the country now infested with cut-throats and guer- rillas, who will hesitate at nothing to accomplish their ends, and who pay no respect to either the Blue or the Gray, although their choice would be to favor the Confederate army. "I would suggest that in event of your capture BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. by any of these robbers that you will if you find it absolutely necessary in some way or other de- stroy these cartridges ; at least two of them, which you will notice is of darker color than the others. "You will use your own judgment as to your way and manner of procedure, and now, sir, may I ask, are you ready to perform this mission?" Captain Bentley bowed again, and rising quietly remarked: "A soldier should always hold himself ready to fulfill orders given him." "Well spoken, young man," said the chieftain also rising, and again extending him his hand. "I wish you the success that should always be the re- ward of those faithful in the performance of a duty. 1 ' This closed the interview and Captain Bentley, making the usual salute, took his departure. He at once repaired to his tent and proceeded to equip himself for his journey. When he emerged he carried in his right hand a well-filled canvas sack known and recognized at that time as a soldier's haversack. He carried no weapons that were visible, but he had thrust in the inside pocket of his blouse a small pistol of the Colt pattern, and as he did this a smile passed over his countenance as he recalled another adventure and the antique weapon he had then carried for protection, and as. 18 2/4 ANDREW BENTLEY, his mind dwelt on other scenes he sighed and said aloud to himself : "Poor Forrest ; he was alive then. Now he has been mustered out accepted that re- ward which has come to many a true soldier in the performance of duty." With this feeling of sadness, occasioned by the recall of the death of his former companion in arms, Captain Bentley proceeded to prepare his charger for the journey, which having accomplished, he swung himself into the saddle and galloped away in the darkness. His aim was to reach the house of an old farmer who, during the summer and autumn of the pre- vious year, when their camp was nearer, had fre- quently come into their lines with produce for sale, at which time Captain Bentley had made his ac- quaintance. He knew he could do this after several hours' ride, and at this place he purposed to leave his horse and take his chances afoot. Having passed the out-posts of his own men, he allowed his horse to drop into a walk for the night was dark, and Bentley knew that his greatest danger lay in interception by that class referred to by his general the vampire element who preyed upon either army. BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. He rode on in the darkness with hearing alert to detect any unusual sound, but nothing fell upon his ear but the chirp of the tree-frog or the cry of some night bird as it was disturbed in its retreat. As the young officer rode along, his mind hav- ing been directed to the past by recollections of other scenes, it quite naturally rested upon home, and the dear ones far away. He reviewed the past three years of his life, his starting from home at the beginning of the war, his experience in the hospital, his second entry into the army as a conscript, his desertion, his return, and now his present term of service truly he felt that his career as a soldier had been a somewhat checkered one. Then his thoughts rested upon the girl he could not help loving, although her attitude towards him was far from being understood by our hero, and he almost unconsciously repeated to himself, as he had many times before: "Surely there must be some mistake. Annie Preston, I know, has a kind and loving heart." Captain Bentley had apparently relaxed his vigilance and did not notice the form that seemed to rise up out of the darkness and gloom of the wayside, but his faithful steed had, and instantly 276 ANDREW BENTLEY. shied to the one side as a heavy hand was laid upon the bridle rein and a gruff voice said, "Hand over yer shooting' iron, strenger, fer I've got the drop on ye." The officer, thus rudely awakened from his re- verie lost not a moment of thought, but quickly brought the heavily leaded stock of his riding whip with all the force he could summon crashing down upon the up-turned face at his side. The man immediately released his hold upon the rein and with a groan staggered backward. At the same moment the darkness was brilliantly lit up by the flash of burning powder and a deafen- ing report rang out on the night air as his weapon went off, either by accident or design we know not which. The flash for an instant blinded the officer, and the deafening report so close to his ear almost stunned him, while the bullet whistled harmlessly in the air. His horse feeling the freedom of rein and star- tled by the report, sprang away in the darkness at a rapid gait. Just then another report was heard, and Bentley felt a stinging sensation like the cut of a whip flash across his cheek, and putting up his hand he felt the blood beginning to flow from a BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 277 slight abrasement of the skin, caused by the pas- sage of a bullet. "Mighty close shave for a shot in the dark. A little more and it would have finished this night's ride for me, but the old saying is 'A miss is as good as a mile,' although this was not exactly a miss," he remarked as with his handkerchief he wiped away the few drops of blood that had collected. All the while his horse galloped on in the dark- ness, soon placing miles between his enemies and himself. It was not far from midnight as he drew near the home of the farmer. Not being very well acquainted with the coun- try beyond this point, his purpose was to seek a lodging here and proceed the rest of the way on foot' trusting to daylight and his wits to enable him to steer clear of the many guerrilla bands which he knew infested the country. He did not doubt that his interruption on the way was by two gentry of that ilk and that there were two of them he felt certain, for had not the bullet which left its mark on his cheek come from the opposite side of the road? He entertained no fears of further trouble from these two, for had he not inflicted a punishment 278 ANDREW BENTLEY. (how great he could not say) upon at least one of them, and the rapid gait of his horse had left them many miles behind him. As he rode up the lane leading to the farm house, his approach was discovered by several of the canine species who rushed out barking fiercely, evidently meaning to contest his farther advance. Their loud barking, however, answered one purpose, that of arousing the inmates, for soon Bentley saw a light moving through the house and presently the door was opened and the voice of the farmer was heard speaking to the dogs. "Seems there must be some varmint down the lane or else the dogs would listen/' Bentley heard the old man mutter, for the dogs still held their ground and refused to listen to the call of their master. "Call off your dogs, neighbor," shouted the young officer. "I want to come up to the house." "Why, consarn me ef 'taint some human crit- ter," the old man was heard to remark. "Hellow! Who be you, and what does yer want this time o'night?" "Call away the dogs that I can come nearer, my friend, and I will tell you," replied the officer. "Jist wait till I get 'er light," and ere long he BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 279 was approaching with a lighted pine knot in one hand and a good sized club in the other with which he drove back the lean, hungry animals, whose very fierceness was no doubt superinduced by their starved -condition. As the old man approached nearer and held up his pine knot, he started forward with an exclama- tion of glad surprise, for he had recognized the officer. "Wall, I swan ter grashus, ef it haint one of the sojer boys from camp! Where be yer goin' any- how?" Bentley informed him he was at the present seeking lodging for himself and steed, and begged to know if he could be accommodated. "Sutinly, sutinly, Capting ; jist lite an' I'll tend to yer critter. Better wait here a spell an' I will soon be with yer," and as he said this he walked away in the direction of a low shed or out-building leading the officer's horse by the bridle-rein ; first, however, placing in the hands of Bentley the club he carried to serve as an instrument of protection in case the canine contingency should renew their attack. He soon returned and with the remark that "keepin' lodgers wasn't hardly in their line, but he 2 SO ANDREW BENTLEY. guessed he could find a restin' place, if the Capting wasn't over pertickler," he led the way to a seeming annex to the house. Ushering his guest into a small room with a low ceiling and one diminutive window, he volun- teered the information that this had been the over- seer's quarters before he had gone off to the war, but since that time it hadn't been used much. The furniture consisted of a small sheet-iron stove, calculated for burning wood, a low bed, a small pine table, and a couple of chairs of very an- cient pattern. The officer slung the haversack on the table, drew one of the chairs to him, beckoning the farmer to occupy the other, which he did, after sticking his torch between the cracks of the floor. Bentley then informed his host that he was on important business and desired to leave early in the morning, that he might possibly be gone before the farmer would be stirring. He asked the farmer to kindly care for his steed until his return, as he purposed making the rest of the way on foot. He said he was prepared to ef- fect a disguise that might deceive even the farmer himself. The host expressed his willingness to care for BENTUEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 28 1 the "officer's critter/' but he doubted very much if any disguise could be gotten up that would de- ceive him. Their interview being ended, the old gentle- man took his leave and Bentley, after first screen- ing the window so as to prevent any passer-by from being attracted by the light, at once set to work. First he emptied the contents of the haver- sack upon the table, and instead of the usual hard- tack, bacon, bread, ground coffee and sugar found in such receptacles, there rolled out a bottle of dark liquid, a negro wig, a suit of soiled linen much the worse for wear, a pair of badly run-down old boots, a cotton shirt, a faded handkerchief, and an old straw hat. These, with the addition of a small hand mirror, completed the outfit. With a small brush he deftly covered his face, throat, neck, arms and hands with the dark liquid and was soon transformed into an African of ebony hue. After adjusting the wig to his head and mak- ing a change of clothing, tying the handkerchief around his neck in the fashion common with negro laborers, he felt his disguise was complete, and doubted very much if his host should now call, 282 ANDREW BENTLEY. whether he would recognize in the tall negro his caller of only a few hours previous. Then carefully rolling the cast-off clothing into as small a bundle as possible, he placed it within the stove as the best available hiding place; then, after removing all other evidence of his pres- ence there as a Union officer, and being weary and worn, he carelessly threw himself across the bed and was soon locked in slumber. It was well for him that this metamorphose had taken place, as subsequent events will show. He knew not how long he had slumbered, but his dreams were rudely interrupted, and he was awakened by hearing a great commotion among the dogs outside, and the loud voices of men speak- ing in an excited manner. Bentley lay quite still and listened. He could detect the voice of the farmer remonstrating with some one and declaring there was no one beneath his roof except those of his own immediate house- hold. "Ya-as, but we uns knows better, fer hev'nt we spied his critter in yan shed? Guess we uns know a cavalry hoss when we seed 'um." But still the farmer protested, although he did BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 283 not attempt to explain the presence of the officer's charger. Bentley, as he lay and listened, felt that the ar- gument put up by his host was as much intended to give him time to escape as to convince the guer- rillas that he was not to be found under his roof. "I say we search the house, Dan?" said one. "Agreed," said the one addressed as Dan. "I jist wanter set my eyes on the chap who placed this rosette above my eye, an' I'll pay him back with in- terest, see ef I don't." The listener had suspicions that these two men were his assailants by the wayside, now he was fully convinced, but he had no thought of trying to ef- fect an escape. He felt he could rely upon his dis- guise ; at all events it would be a good opportunity to test it ; besides, had he not his trusty revolver in his breast pocket, and with this he drew it forth and held it in his hand ready for instant action if the oc- casion required it. The sound of voices and foot steps was heard approaching. The officer turned over on his side and pretended to be in a deep sleep. Shortly the door was rudely swung ajar and the two men stepped in. The old farmer remained trembling outside, for he was not certain whether 284 ANDREW BENTLEY. his guest had been aroused and taken his departure or not. In event of him still being there, he was expect- ing every minute to hear the sounds of a desperate struggle; but in a short time both made their ap- pearance in the doorway, the one called Dan re- marking that all they could find in there was a dratted old nigger, but whether he was drunk or too sleepy to answer any of their questions they couldn't say. The farmer heard this announcement with amazement, but wisely said nothing. "Guess we've missed our covey, Bill?" said Dan. "Must hev heard us an' sloped, but drat him, we'll jist take his critter fer I hev a sorter lame foot, an' would jist as soon ride as walk." Repairing to the stable, Dan proceeded to pos- sess himself of Bentley's steed, while his compan- ion, not feeling disposed to walk, appropriated to his own use one of the farmer's skinny mules, and although the farmer put up a strong protest against the taking away of a portion of his team, the thieves laughed in his face and at once galloped away. This had truly been an eventful night to the old man; twice had his slumbers been disturbed, and BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 285 now to suffer the loss of his property was trying upon his nerves. He felt that all slumber was for the present dis- pelled, so set about arranging for the work of the coming day, which the faint streaks of light in the east warned him was approaching. Knowing his guest had expressed his intention of taking an early leave, he decided to see if he had returned, and at all events to learn something re- garding the party whom the guerrillas stated as finding on his premises. "There aint nary nigger, big or little, about this place," he muttered to himself, "not since Grant settled down in these yer parts, and every one took to their heels thinkin' they is gwine to be made free right away ;" and thus communing with himself he approached the former quarters of his overseer and entered. Captain Bentley had heard him coming and had arisen and was quietly sitting upon the edge of the bed trying to picture to himself his host's surprise. The old man this time caried in his hand an im- provised candle much in use in the South during the latter days of the war. It consisted of a piece of cotton wick dipped in- to a liquid of melted resin, and while warm wrapped 286 ANDREW BENTLEY. around a stick, the top end passing through a piece of perforated tin. This formed a good light, and when once burned down to the tin the light was put out and the wick pulled up and again re-lit. Pushing open the door and entering the room his gaze at once rested upon decidedly the "black- est nigger," to use his own words, "that he had ever seen." His surprise was so great that he started back- ward and in his consternation dropped his candle, which, striking on its end, the light was extin- guished. He hastily re-lit it and in a voice he tried very hard to have sound authoritative, demanded of the figure sitting upon the side of the bed, lazily swinging his legs while he gazed at the old gentle- man with an impudent grin upon his face "to clar out." "Wha what's yer doin' here, yer black imp? Seems yer makin' yersel' mighty much ter home ef I knows anything. Who guv yer permission ter come into this yer room?" "Youse did, massa," replied his colored auditor. "'Tis not so, you lying' scamp ; I don't invite no nigger ter sleep in my house, so you better go back ter where yer come from. Where's the young of- ficer I put to sleep in this room? I spose when he BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 28/ was out yer done sneaked in, an' ef he comes in now he won't want to lie down on a bed a dirty nigger tramp was sleepin' on, so yer better travel fore I call the dogs." "That will hardly be necessary," said Bentley, resuming his natural tone of voice. The old man started as though he had received an electric shock, then came forward and closely scrutinized the face of the supposed negro. "Not so bad a make-up, my friend," said the of- ficer, laughing. "Wall, I'll be gosh hanged !" ejaculated the old man, ef yer haint done gone an' fooled the ole man completely. "So yer were the nigger the thieves were talkin' about when they done come out?" "Yes, they thought first I was a white man till they turned me over ; then they asked me some questions about whether I had seen a white man about, but of course I was too stupid to understand them." "Not much wonder they didn't know yer, but I am mighty sorry to tell yer, they know'd yer horse, an' what's worse swiped him as well as my lead mule." The old man said this in so doleful a tone of 288 ANDREW BENTLEY. voice that Bentley was moved to a feeling of sym- pathy, and tried to offer words of consolation by saying that as he was largely responsible for the visit of the midnight maurauders and the loss of the mule, he would see that the farmer would be reim- bursed for his loss. This proved to be very satisfactory to the old man, and after informing the officer that he would bring him his breakfast as soon as the "wimmen folks got to stirrin," he left him to do his morning chores. In due time he again entered with a well-filled tray of nicely cooked victuals, which the hungry officer did justice to. After being refreshed, he informed the farmer he was ready to proceed on his way. The old gentleman regretted that he didn't have a guide to offer him, but as all his negroes had taken "French leave" he was not able to do so. Bentley concluded it was advisable that he travel without a companion, "for," said he, "you know one nigger will attract less attention than two." The old gentleman understood the allusion, and laughingly assented. The officer said he would ask of the farmer one BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 289 favor, namely, the loan of his walking stick; then promising to return that way and recompense the farmer, he went on his way with a decided limp in his gait. He knew that by taking a short cut through a swamp, he would be able to reach the James river quicker than to pursue the regular highway. He chose the former route and carefully made his way through field and woodland, avoiding meeting any one as much as possible. He, however, in turning the corner of a wood, came across a small party of men engaged in ex- tracting stumps from a clearing . Bentley discovered them first, but seeing he could not avoid them he made his way toward them, his limp perceptibly growing worse as he drew near. Of these, he made inquiry where to find a good crossing of the river. They directed him to a colored man living about two miles down the stream, whom they said owned a small skiff and sometimes ferried people across, but they wouldn't advise him crossing, as the Yankee troopers on the other side were gob- bling up all the niggers they could lay their hands on and making black "sojers" out of them. 19 29O ANDREW BENTLEY. One of the workers said it was a dratted shame that southern gentlemen had to fight their own property. The negro thanked them for their information, and with the remark that a nigger with a badly sprained ankle wouldn't likely be much account as a "sojer" in either army, he hobbled away. Once out of sight his limp ceased, and he walked briskly off in the direction of the river. In due time he found the dusky ferry-man and struck a bargain with him to be ferried across the stream. While this was being done he plied the fer- ry-man with questions, learning from him that oft- times the Union pickets on the other side came close down to the river, and that only a few miles back there was a considerable body of men en- camped. All the while this conversation was being carried on, the ferry-man entertained not the slight- est suspicion but what his companion, like himself, belonged to the down-trodden African race. The information received from the sable ferry- man was very pleasing to Bentley, and they had no sooner landed than he sprang out of the skiff, and throwing away his walking stick nimbly climbed the steep bank, while the ferry-man looked after him with open-eyed amazement. BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 2QI "Dat ar nigga jist shammin' sho' enuff ; no lame foot about him dat sartin." Bentley made his way rapidly until he was ac- costed by a picket, having suddenly come across one of the out-posts of Sheridan's army. He made known the nature of his mission to these men, but they were skeptical and doubted his being a messenger sent from Grant, one of them de- claring that General Grant had plenty of good, re- liable white men to carry his messages without hav- ing to hunt up representatives of the colored race. Bentley enjoyed their talk for a short while, then to their surprise he bared his arm to the shoul- der, showing the upper portion white, while the lower part was of ebony hue. He also removed his wig, thus convincing them beyond a doubt that he was not one of that race whose day of servitude was almost over. The officer was sent under a guard to the head- quarters of the great cavalry chieftain, and as he passed along, many were the curious glances be- stowed upon him, for his entire make-up was a pe- culiar one. Arriving at his point of destination, he was ushered into the presence of Sheridan, whom he found busily engaged in signing a bundle of reports ANDREW BENTLEY. that lay before him. Bentley paused inside the door, awaiting the General's leisure. When the last report was signed he looked up and noticing a colored man standing in the attitude of attention, addressed him with, "Well, my sable friend, what can I do for you?" Bentley advanced, made a graceful salute and without a word, laid the four cartridges he carried upon the table in front of the General. "Humph!" exclaimed Sheridan, "something from Grant," and quickly selecting those of darker shade, he deftly unscrewed the exposed part of the bullet of the two, and out dropped a neatly folded piece of tissue paper, having something closely written thereon in a neat hand. It was evinced to Bentley that these were not the first messages received by Sheridan from Grant, put up in that peculiar way. The General read the dispatches over carefully, then seizing a pen and a piece of blank paper, he wrote rapidly for a few moments ; calling an orderly he bid him deliver it without delay. Then turning to the messenger, who still stood at a respectful attention, he addressed him: "Your name, sir?" BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 2Q3 "Captain Bentley, of the Penna. Cav- alry." "Impossible, sir! I have heard of Captain Bentley, and from what I have learned he is a white man of remarkable nerve and daring; besides, I know of the regiment you refer to ; it is in Warren's command and I have no knowledge of their being any colored company in the entire body." Bentley's cheeks glowed with a flush of pride at the favorable mention of himself by this dashing cavalry leader. An amused smile overspread his face as he ob- served the close scrutiny the General was making of his person. After this inspection was continued for a few moments, Sheridan remarked, "Features a little too sharp, tone of voice rather light, otherwise your make-up is perfect, but pray what was your object in assuming this disguise? Bentley informed him of the route over which he had come in order to make time, and the neces- sity of a safe disguise in order to avoid interruption and perhaps delay, and he had been reminded by Grant that expedition was essentially necessary. "You are right," assented Sheridan, "for a por- tion of the way over which you have come is now 294 ANDREW BENTLEY. being overrun by hordes of the dissatisfied of Lee's army, and they are ready to intercept friend or foe. Bentley then related the incident at the farm house, and mentioned the loss of his horse. "So then, you are out a horse, eh?" said the Gen- eral. "Well, you shall have as good a one as you lost," and picking up a pen he wrote a few lines, affixing at the bottom, "By order of P. H. Sheri- dan," handing it to Bentley with the remark, "I have issued orders. We break camp to-day; you can ride with us." Bentley glanced at the writing upon the paper, and found it was a requisition upon the Division Quartermaster for a complete outfit of horse, sad- dle and bridle. He thanked the General, made the usual salute and took his departure. Captain Bentley's return with Sheridan's troop- ers enable him to escape the danger incident to a return alone. He called at the farm house on his way back and found that his friend had received no further mo- lestation; he found the package he had placed in the stove still undisturbed, and laying aside his negro costume, he soon emerged clad again in his uniform. BENTLEY CARRIES A MESSAGE. 295 Bentley, upon his return, reported to the Com- mander-in-Chief and received his thanks. In due time the old farmer found a recompense for his mule, which placed the young cavalry cap- tain higher in his esteem than ever. This juncture of Sheridan with Grant gave the Union army an unbroken line clear to Appomattox. 296 ANDREW BENTLEY. CHAPTER XVIII. WOUNDED-MARRIAGE-DEATH. HE end of the long struggle was at last in sight. Grant was closing in on Peters- burg. The battle of Five Forks was fought. In this engagement the cavalry under Sheridan took an active part. Our hero with his company was in the thickest of the fight. Captain Bentley heretofore seemed to bear a charmed life. He was well in advance of his men waving his sword and cheering them on, when all of a sudden his sword was seen to drop from his hand and a moment later he pitched from his charger, and fell heavily upon the ground. A number of his men rushed forward, picked him up and tenderly bore him to the rear. He was unconscious but breathing heavily. A hasty ex- amination was made and it was found that his right arm had been pierced by a piece of shell and badly shattered from elbow to hand, besides there was a frightful gash upon his head, caused by coming in WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. contact with a sharp boulder as he fell. This no doubt caused his state of insensibility. An am- bulance coming up, he was carefully placed within and hurried off to the field hospital. Three weeks later we find him pale and wan from the loss of blood, in one of the city hospitals of Washington. His arm had been amputated twice ; first, below the elbow and again a few inches above. Word had been sent home by a comrade, stat- ing that he was seriously wounded, nothing more, and again the little village was astir. Its peaceful inhabitants had passed through many exciting events during the past four years. Petersburg and Richmond had fallen, and on that memorable field of Appomattox, a few days later, the Confederate army under Lee had surren- dered. Peace had come and loud and wild were the huzzas as the victors came marching home. Everybody seemed wild with excitement. Bells were rung and bonfires were made to commemor- ate the event. George Coulter had returned with the gold leaf of a major upon his shoulder straps. The remaining survivor of the little band of four, who first marched forth from N lay dying in the hospital. 2Q8 ANDREW BENTLEY. Yes, the news had come that Captain Bentley was very low. A conference was being held in the Bentley homestead. Some one must go to Wash- ington. Who should it be? Annie Preston was there. In spite of her pride, she was drawn to the old couple, and passed much of her time with them since the news had come of James being wounded. She felt that some horrible mistake existed betwixt she and her lover, but she could not desert the aged mother now, when she most needed a friend. The question was again asked, "Who will go to Wash- ington?" Walter was quite willing, but his youth- fulness prevented on an occasion like this. The mother could not go, so it fell upon the father. Annie Preston expressed her determination to ac- company him. This was a pleasant surprise, and Farmer Bentley felt pleased to know he would have a companion. Annie did not stop to consider what people might say. She did not care. Her heart told her that she was needed there. They set forth on their journey next morning and arrived in the Capitol city by nightfall. Could Annie have had her way, she would have started out at once to find the hospital, but the counsel of her companion prevailed. WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. They rested over night, and in the morning hav- ing received some necessary directions, they set forth. Ere long they reached the hospital and having made known the object of their visit, they were politely shown to the office of the surgeon in charge, who as soon as he learned the name of the wounded officer for whom they were looking, re- plied : "Ah, yes ; Captain Bentley, one of the bravest men in his regiment/' Calling an orderly he di- rected him to show the lady and gentleman to ward No. 17. Captain Bentley lay that morning quietly on his cot, his mind busy on things not pertaining to this world. He had always kept his little Testa- ment with him and now since his confinement in the hospital, it had proven a rich solace to him, and many were the comforting passages he had found within its lids. He had felt for sometime back that he might never see the old home and his loved ones again, but the thought did not cause him much uneasiness. What was it to him to go back to N ? He felt that he had lost Annie Preston, and there was naught else except his dear old parents and Walter. He felt that he would like to see them all again and feel their kiss 3OO ANDREW BENTLEY. upon his cheek, but here his yearnings for home ended. He had lain for days feeling the throbbing of his maimed arm, for he had been obliged to un- dergo a third amputation. This time the doctors had taken it off close to the shoulder, as the only remedy to save the young officer's life. He was resting quietly now, though much exhausted. When Annie and the father reached the ward in which the patient lay, it was deemed best for the nurse to apprise him of the presence of his father but to say nothing of the young lady. After the nurse had in a quiet way told him of the arrival of his parent, the father stepped forward grasping his son's remaining hand, sank upon his knees at the bedside, bowing over him and in sobbing tones, murmured, "My boy ! My boy !" The sufferer looked up with a glad smile and said, "Father, I thought you would come, but is that mother with you?" for his quick eye had de- tected a strange lady in conversation with the nurse. Annie had purposely turned her back so he would not at first recognize her. "No," said the father, "mother could not come, but there is one here whom I think you would be pleased to see," and beckoning Annie forward, he stepped quietly aside. WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 30! Annie had planned how she would meet with James, but one glance at the pale emaciated face and the bandaged stump lying across the counter- pane, and she forgot everything. Bounding for- ward with a low cry of anguish she knelt at the bed- side of her poor maimed lover. Captain Bentley's face spoke volumes, but he could only whisper, "My darling! My darling! At last! At last !" Farmer Bentley deemed it best to withdraw for a short time and leave the lovers to themselves. Then followed explanations. James told how he had written again and again, and how he had pa- tiently awaited a reply, hoping against hope. Annie had the same story to tell; she had re- ceived but one letter, the first one James had writ- ten from Camp Stoneman. This letter she had promptly answered. They both thought it very strange that the letters James had written to his parents and their reply to him had passed regularly. All of a sudden James asked, "Who handles the mail now at home?" for James was not aware, or had perhaps forgotten that there had been a change in the post office at N . "Why, Henry Wililams," replied Annie; "But why do you ask?" 3O2 ANDREW BENTLEY. "That explains it all, then/' said her lover, and he related to Annie all of Henry's conduct towards him while he was in the ranks, and also of his per- fidy at home. Annie then told him of Henry's aspirations to- ward her and James felt he now fully understood the cause of Henry Williams' unfriendly attitude to- ward him. They were both now fully convinced that they had been victims of their school-mate's villainy. It was thought best by the nurse that they had beter not prolong their stay further, as it might prove too exhaustive for her patient, but that they could return on the morrow. The father at this juncture returned and passed a few moments in conversation with his son. They then took their departure, promising to return on the morrow. The wounded man seemed much refreshed by this interview. He appeared to for- get the beating of his maimed arm. He looked eagerly for their coming. When they called the following day, they found him perceptibly brighter. James enjoyed a quiet talk with his father about home matters, then a longer one with Annie. As they were about to leave him, James WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 303 stretched out his remaining arm towards Annie and drew her close down to him, while he whispered something in her ear. "Yes/' replied Annie, blushing deeply, "I said 1 would join my fortune to yours, be you maimed or unscathed." "Are you ready, darling, to fulfill that promise now?" and the wounded soldier beamed upon her a look of tenderness. Annie looking into his face, felt she could deny him nothing, so she murmured, "Yes, I am ready." The smile that lit up the poor, wan face was beautiful to behold. So it was arranged that the ceremony should take place the following morning. Captain Bentley, although he had felt better since their coming, did not feel quite sure that he would be able to return with them, and he could not bear the thought of Annie leaving him as aught else than his wedded bride. As for Annie, she preferred to return as his wife, or if the worst came to worst, as his widow. On the morrow when our friends came to the hospital, they were accompanied by a dignified looking gentleman in clerical garb. They repaired at once to the office of the surgeon in charge, where they made him acquainted with their purpose. 3O4 ANDREW BENTLEY. The officer entered heartily into their plans, claim- ing the right of giving the bride away. The wounded soldier was comfortably propped up among snowy white pillows, and everything had been tastefully arranged by the nurse, when the lit- tle party, consisting of the head surgeon, the minis- ter, Farmer Bentley and Annie entered. They gathered about the soldier's bed-side. The jolly surgeon gave the bride away, and in a few moments the man of God pronounced them man and wife. Annie's heart beat wildly as she bent over him to receive the nuptial kiss, while James sank back on his pillows with a great joy in his heart. They did not prolong their stay, fearing that the excitement would prove too much for the wounded officer, so left him, promising to return soon. Captain Bentley seemed to improve gradually and each visit they found him much better, so they lengthened their stay with the hope that he might be able to return with them. At length it was thought that with care he might be taken home. So arrangements were made for their return. The day was set, a section in a parlor car was engaged, and the trio set out on their journey homeward. The usual speed was made by the train, but the time seemed long before they drew up at their des- WOUNDED MARRIAGE-^ DEATH. 305 tination. James was pretty well exhausted when they left the railway coach. Then there was the ride in the carriage, though short, and the road carefully chosen by the driver, it still added to his exhaustion, and it was with a sigh of relief that he found himself in the dear old bed room at home, carefully tucked in bed, 'mid snowy linen with his mother's arms around his neck and her soft kiss resting upon his cheek. He rested quite comfort- ably, only waking once and asking for a drink. In the morning, Annie found an opportunity to run over home and acquaint them of her return. She had apprised them by letter of the event in the hospital. She did not tarry long, but hastened back to her husband's bedside. He was awake, but feeling weak; although he slumbered well he did not seem refreshed. The bandages on his arm had become displaced and the sore was irritated and inflamed. The family physician was called in and the wound nicely dressed and re-bandaged, and James rested more quietly. Towards evening it was seen that he was grow- ing feverish. Although Annie had slept but little during her vigil the previous night, she insisted on 20 306 ANDREW BENTLEY. again watching, finally agreeing to divide the night watch with Walter. Towards midnight he grew worse, and his mind at times wandered. Now he would be leading his men ; next pleading with Annie to write him only a line, then again he was trying to make his way home from the army with the fear of capture upon him. But near morning, he fell into a deep slumber only awakening when the sun was high in the heavens. They all hoped and prayed for the best, but the journey home had been too much for him. Each day he grew weaker, while the loving, patient young wife sat beside him and watched him slip- ping away from her day by day. Kind neighbors came and offered their help, but she, although almost prostrated, would entrust him to no one, unless it was Walter, who faithfully shared her vigils nightly. As the fever increased, his ravings grew wilder, and his friends shuddered as his voice would loudly ring out ordering his men to "Charge the Battery !" while he would try in vain to wave the scarred stump. Slowly the marble pallor and the strange chill crept on, pinching the nose, contracting the lips, touching the forehead and moistening the soft WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 307 brown hair that Annie smoothed caressingly, as she bent down to catch the last faint whisperings of a spirit nearly gone. "We fought the battle bravely and our flag has triumphed, but Annie, dear, I am almost home. Mother ! Father ! Brother Walter ! Come closer, I cannot see you. It must be growing dark." Annie knew it was the film of death stealing over those blue eyes, and her heart was almost breaking. The poor mother could not see for her tears, nor speak for her sorrow. They all gathered closer. "'Tis not so hard to die; no pain nor anguish. All peace, peace." His voice sank to a whisper. Beckoning his father to him he whispered : "Father, you will not be ashamed of your boy when he is gone? I tried to retrieve my honor." "Annie, dearest, kiss me." She bowed over him and pressed her lips to those of his, now chill- ing in death. "Mother ! Walter ! Good-bye." Then for a time his mind seemed to wander. Again he was amid the scenes of carnage. "Forward boys ! Keep the flag well towards the front !" These were his last words, for a sudden chill came over him and his hand convulsively clasped Annie's and thus passed 308 ANDREW BENTLEY. away one of the brightest and bravest of the many martyrs, who laid their lives upon the altar of our country. Soldier, rest! Thy warfare's ended, Life's last conflict now is o'er; Bugle-calls with death notes blended, Shall disturb thine ear no more. Peaceful is thy dreamless slum'ber; .Peaceful, but how cold and stern, Thou hast joined that silent number, In that land whence none return. Soldier, rest! Thy flag above thee, Hangs in many a drooping fold; Loved one's are bending o'er thee, Many tear drops we behold: Thine was not a hand to falter, When thy sword should leave its sheath; Thine was not a cheek to alter, Though thy duty led to death. Soldier, rest! We smooth thy pillow, For thy last long earthly sleep; Peacefully among 1 thy kindred, Storms unheard will o'er thee sweep. While thy young bride weeps in sorrow, That no more she hears thy tread, That the night which knows no morrow Darkly veils thy laurel'd head. The entire community turned out to pay their respects to one whom they all loved. They gave WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 309 him a soldier's burial, wrapping around his casket the flag for which he gave his young life. The same old drums that had been beaten so joyously on that bright summer morning when he had first marched away, now sounded the sad dirge of the "Dead March in Saul." In the old German Reformed Cemetery, a little way out from the village, they sorrowfully laid him down, while the little platoon of soldiers led by his old comrade, Major George Coulter, fired the part- ing salute over his grave. Not far from him lies one of his companions in arms, Alpheus Forrest. Many years have passed since that sad day. Other graves have been made since then, and lost sight of by growing foliage, but there is one that receives attention same as in the years gone by. Above it rises a plain marble shaft bearing this sim- ple inscription : "CAPTAIN JAMES ANDREW BENTLEY. " During her lifetime, the guardian of this little mound was a sad-eyed woman, bearing much of the beauty of her youth. She always remained as Mrs. Annie Bentley. She had many offers of mar- riage, but preferred to remain a soldier's widow. 3IO ANDREW BENTLEY. She was frequently assisted in the care of this grave by a tall, bronzed man, closely resembling the lover of her youth. He answers to the name of Walter, and is the same in his loyalty to the memory of the dead soldier, as when a youth he sought at the risk of his own life to aid and assist one who controlled his entire affection. It would hardly be fair to my readers to close without a word regarding Major George Coulter and Henry Williams. The former rose to prominence among his fel- low men, and upon several occasions was chosen to fill positions of honor and trust, which he did with credit to himself and his constituents. He con- tinued up to the time of his death which occurred a few years ago an honored member of the Grand Army of the Republic. Henry Williams having made his first wrong step, others quickly followed. It was not long until a suspicion arose that the mail was being tam- pered with. A decoy letter was sent out and Henry fell a ready victim. He was obliged to un- dergo a trial, and being unable to clear himself, was forced to pay the penalty for his wrong doing. Not having for years past much standing in the com- munity, he had less after satisfying the demands of WOUNDED MARRIAGE DEATH. 3 1 1 justice. He, therefore, sought a home in a distant state, and of his later career we are not well in- formed. And now, my dear readers, the tale is ended, but if the perusal of this has afforded you as much pleasure as the writer has enjoyed penning it, we are satisfied, for we have lived again amid the scenes of our youth and the companions of our boyhood. THE END An intensely interesting story from the pen of . . * * WALTER SCOTT BROWNE will soon appear in print under the title of The Rose of the Wilderness, or Washington's Firsf Love. In this romance will be found much that will hold the interest of the reader from start to finish. The plot is laid during the opening years of the French and Indian War when the doughty Englishman contended with the fiery Frenchman for possession of territory in America that was then the home and hunting-ground of the untutored savage. In this story, so graphically written by the author, the reader learns more in detail of the early life of the Father of Our Country and his first public duty. The ill-fated expedition of General Braddock will form an interesting part of this narrative. CLOTH, per volume, ... $1.25 PAPER. ..... .50 WALTER S. BROWNE, Vineland, N. J. Beptley... or- flow; fle Retrieved His Honor A war-time story breathing the spirit of Love and Patriotism. BY- WALTER SCOTT BROWNE IL.LUSTRATED--32O PAGES. Price, cloth $1.00 Paner binding , 50 For Agency or other business, address W. S. BROWNE, 'Vineland, N. J.