“I haven’t the least doubt but what the nigger told the truth,” continued Ben Hawkins, as Mr. Allison’s black boy disappeared in the darkness and his men gathered about him to hear what else he had to say. “Everything goes to prove that we uns talked our plans over in the presence of somebody who went straight to Beardsley an’ Shelby with it; an’ them two went to work an’ brung soldiers enough up to Allison’s house to scoop us all in the minute we got there. But we uns aint goin’ to be scooped this night, thanks to that nigger. Twenty, or even six veterans is too many fur we uns to tackle, ’specially sence some of us aint never smelled much powder, an’ so we’re goin’ home. Now, who’s the traitor, do you reckon?”

There was no answer to this question. If the refugees suspected anybody, they did not speak his name. It was a serious matter to accuse one of their number, none of them were willing to take the responsibility, and so they wisely held their peace.

“We aint got no proof agin anybody,” continued Ben, “an’ I don’t know’s I blame you all fur not wantin’ to speak out. But mind this: I shall have an eye on everybody in camp—everybody, I said—an’ the fust one who crooks his finger will have to tell a tol’able straight story to keep out of trouble. Fall in, and counter-march by file, left. Quick time now, an’ keep your guns in your hands, kase when them rebs up to the house find that we uns aint goin’ to run into their trap, they may try to head us off.”

The return march was made in silence, each member of the squad being engrossed with his own thoughts. Tom Allison and Mark Goodwin were uppermost in their minds, and there was not one of the refugees who did not tell himself that it would be better for the settlement if those two mischief-makers were well out of it. They reached camp without any trouble and reported their failure and talked about it as freely as though they never suspected that there was somebody in their midst who was to blame for it. Acting on the hint Ben Hawkins gave them the parolled Confederates watched everybody, their comrades as well as the civilians, and talked incessantly in the hope that the guilty one might be led to betray himself by an inadvertent word or gesture; but they paid the least attention to the man who could have told them the most about it. Ben Hawkins would have suspected himself almost as soon as he would have suspected Buffum.

Monday evening came all too soon for Marcy Gray, who, with a feeling of depression he had never before experienced, made ready to take his turn at foraging. He announced that it was his intention to go to his mother’s house alone, because one person might be able to approach the dwelling unobserved, while three could not make a successful fight if the enemy were on the watch. No one offered objection to this arrangement, if we except the boy Julius, who positively refused to be left behind, declaring that if his master would not take him to the main-land in his boat, he would swim the bayou and follow him anyhow.

When the time came for Marcy to start he shook hands with all the refugees, Buffum included, and pushed off from the island alone. He concealed his canoe when he reached the other shore and was about to plunge into the woods, when a slight splashing in the water and the sound of suppressed conversation came from the bank he had just left. At least two or three persons were shoving off from the island to follow him, and Marcy, believing that he could call them by name, waited for them to come up. The night was so dark and the bushes so thick that his friendly pursuers did not see him until the bow of their boat touched the shore and they began to step out.

“Now, Ben,” said Marcy reproachfully, “I shall feel much more at my ease if you will turn around and go back.”

“Oh, hursh, honey!” replied Julius. “We uns gwine fight de rebels, too.”

“Don’t you know that if you and your friends are captured you will be treated as deserters?” continued Marcy, addressing himself to Hawkins and paying no attention to Julius. “You have been ordered to report for duty and haven’t done it, and I suppose you know what that means.”

“A heap better’n you do at this time, but not better’n you will if you are tooken an’ packed off to Williamston,” answered Ben. “You’d die in less’n a month if you was forced into the army, kase you aint the right build to stand the hard knocks you’ll get. But we uns don’t ’low to be took pris’ner or let you be took, either.”

“I appreciate your kindness——” began Marcy.

“You needn’t say no more, kase we uns has made it up to go with you, an’ we aint goin’ to turn back,” interrupted Ben. “We uns will stay outside the house an’ watch, an’ you can go in an’ get the grub. Pull the boat ashore, boys, an’ shove her into the bresh out of sight.”

There is no use in saying that Marcy did not feel relieved to know that he would have four friends at his back if he got into trouble, because he did. There were three Confederate veterans, and Julius made the fourth friend; but Julius counted, for he had already proved that he was worth something in an emergency. Marcy made no further effort to turn them back, but shook them all warmly by the hand and led the way toward his mother’s plantation. It took them two hours to reach it, for they kept under cover of the woods as long as they could, and followed blind ditches and brush-lined fences when it became necessary for them to cross open fields, and so cautious were they in their movements that when Ben came to a halt behind a rose-bush in full view of the great house, he gave it as his opinion that an owl would not have seen or heard them, if there had been one on the watch.

“An’ although we uns aint seen no rebels, that don’t by no means prove that there aint none around,” added Ben. “Marcy, you stay here, an’ the rest of us will kinder sneak around t’other side the house an’ take a look at things. Julius, you come with me, kase you know the lay of the land an’ I don’t. You two boys go that-a-way; an’ if you run onto anything don’t stop to ask questions, but shoot to kill. It’s a matter of life an’ death with all of we uns, except the nigger.”

Marcy’s friends moved away in different directions, and, when they were out of sight and hearing, he walked around the rose-bush and sat down on the ground so close to the house that he could recognize the servants who passed in and out of the open door, through which a light streamed into the darkness. He longed to call one of them to his hiding-place and send a comforting message to the anxious mother, who he knew was waiting for him in the sitting room, but he was afraid to do it. There wasn’t a negro on the place who could be trusted as far as that. If he tried to attract the notice of one of them, the darky would be sure to shriek out with terror and seek safety in flight, and Marcy did not want to frighten his mother. So he sat still and waited for Ben Hawkins, who, after half an hour’s absence, returned with the gratifying intelligence that the coast was clear, and Marcy could go ahead with his foraging as soon as he pleased.

“If there’s ary reb in this here garding he must be hid in the ground, or else some of we uns would surely have stepped onto him,” said Ben. “Beardsley didn’t look fur you to come to-night, an’ that’s all the proof I want that we uns has got ahead of that traitor of ourn fur once, dog-gone his pictur’.”

“Where are the rest of the boys?” whispered Marcy.

“They’re gardin’ three sides of the house, an’ when you go in I’ll stay here an’ guard the fourth,” answered Ben. “Off you go, now. Crawl up.”

Marcy lingered a moment to shake Ben’s hand, and then arose to his feet and walked toward the house. If Ben’s report was correct there was no need of concealment. He stopped on the way to speak to the darkies in the kitchen, and his sudden appearance at the door threw them into the wildest commotion. They made a simultaneous rush for the rear window, intending to crawl through and take to their heels; but the sound of his familiar voice reassured them. Raising his hand to silence their cries of alarm Marcy said impressively:

“Do you black ones want to see me captured by the rebels? Or do you want to frighten my mother to death? If you don’t, keep still.”

“Moss’ Mahcy,” protested the cook, who was the first to recover from her fright, “dey aint no rebels round hyar. I aint seed none dis whole blessed——”

“For all that there may be some concealed in the garden and ready to jump on me at any moment,” interrupted Marcy. “Now, don’t go to prowling about. If you do you will be frightened again, for I have friends out there in the bushes and you might run upon them in the dark.”

So saying Marcy turned from the kitchen and went into the house, passing on the way two large baskets which had been filled with food and placed in the hall ready to his hand, so that there would be nothing to detain him in so dangerous a place as his mother’s house was known to be. Mrs. Gray came from the sitting room to meet him, for she heard his step the moment he crossed the threshold.

“O Marcy! I am so glad to see you, but I am almost sorry you came,” was the way in which she greeted him.

“Seen anything alarming?” inquired the boy.

“No; and that very circumstance excites my suspicion. There are Confederate soldiers in the neighborhood, for Morris saw several of them in Nashville this morning. I shall never become accustomed to this terrible way of living.”

“No more shall I, but the only way to put a stop to it is to—what in the world is that?” exclaimed Marcy; for just then a smothered cry of astonishment and alarm, that was suddenly cut short in the middle, sounded in the direction of the kitchen, followed by an indescribable commotion such as might have been made by the shuffling feet of men who were engaged in a hand-to-hand contest. A second afterward pistol-shots—not one or a dozen, but a volley of them rattled around the house, telling Marcy in plain terms that Ben Hawkins and his comrades had been assailed on all sides.

“O Marcy, they’ve got you!” cried Mrs. Gray; and forgetful of herself, and thinking only of his safety, she flung her arms about his neck and threw herself between him and the open door, protecting his person with her own.

“Not yet,” replied the boy between his clenched teeth. “I might as well die here as in the army.”

Tightening his grasp on his mother’s waist Marcy swung her behind him with one arm, at the same time reaching for the revolver whose heavy butt protruded from the leg of his right boot; but before he could straighten up with the weapon in his hand, two men in Confederate uniform rushed into the room from the hall, and two cocked revolvers were pointed at his head. Resistance would have been madness. The men had him covered, their ready fingers were resting on the triggers, and an effort on Marcy’s part to level his own weapon would have been the signal for his death. These things happened in much less time than we have taken to describe them, and all the while a regular fight, a sharp one, too, had been going on outside the house, and with the rattle of carbines and revolvers were mingled the screams of the terrified negroes; but Marcy Gray and his mother did not know it. Their minds were filled with but one thought, and that was that Beardsley had got the upper hand of them at last.

“If you move an eyelid you are a dead conscript,” said the foremost of the two rebels at the door, and whom Marcy afterward knew as Captain Fletcher. As he spoke he came into the room and took the revolver from Marcy’s hand.

“Captain, I see the mate to that sticking out of his boot,” said the other soldier; and not until the captain had taken possession of that revolver also did his comrade think it safe to put up his weapon.

At this moment the firing outside ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Captain Fletcher noticed it if Marcy did not, and ordered his man to “go out and take a look and come in and report.” Then Marcy led his mother to the sofa and sat down beside her, while the captain stood in the middle of the room with his revolver in his hand and looked at him.

“You’ve got me easy enough,” said Marcy, trying to put a bold face on the matter. “And now I should like to know what you intend to do with me.”

“My orders are to take you to Williamston,” replied the captain, who seemed to be a good fellow at heart. “I am sorry, but you would have saved yourself and me some trouble if you had gone there the minute you were conscripted.”

“I never knew before that I had been conscripted,” answered Marcy.

“Every man and boy in the Confederacy who is able to do duty must go into the army,” said the captain slowly and impressively. “If he will not go willingly he’ll be forced in.”

“There are so many men and boys in the Confederacy who do not want to go into the service that I should think it would take half your army to hunt them up.”

“It’s a heap of bother,” admitted the captain, “and it takes men we cannot afford to spare from the front just now. Perhaps you had better take a few clothes and a blanket with you; but I shall have to ask your mother to get them, for I want you where I can keep an eye on you. Captain Beardsley says——”

“Go on,” said Marcy, when the captain paused and caught his breath. “You can’t tell me anything about Beardsley that I don’t know already. He and Shelby are at the bottom of this, and I am well aware of it. I don’t see why you don’t hang those men. They have taken the oath of allegiance to the United States Government.”

“I don’t approve of anything like that, but all’s fair in war,” replied the captain, who seemed to know all about it. “A loyal soldier wouldn’t have done it, but Beardsley and Shelby are civilians and the Yanks frightened them into it. However, they are working for our side as hard as they ever did, and that’s about all we care for.”

When the captain ceased speaking Mrs. Gray arose from the sofa and went to Marcy’s room to pack a valise for him. There were no traces of tears on her white, set face, and her step was as firm as it ever was. She was bearing up bravely, for she had long schooled herself for just such a scene as this. When she left the room the captain slipped his revolver into its holster, took possession of an easy-chair, and leaned back in it with a long-drawn sigh.

“I’d rather face a dozen Yanks than one woman,” said he. “I hope she’ll not break down when she bids you good-by.”

“You need have no fears on that score,” answered Marcy. “I judge you don’t like the unpleasant work you are engaged in any too well, and my mother will do nothing to make it harder for you.”

“You’re mighty right, I don’t like it,” said the captain emphatically. “Any place in the world but an invalid corps. They have all the dirty work to do. It suits some cowards, but I’d rather be at the front, and there I hope to go next week. Well, corporal?” he added, turning to the man he had sent out of the room a few minutes before. “How many of them were there?”

“A dozen or so, sir, judging by the fight they made and the work they did,” replied the soldier.

“Are you speaking of my friends?” inquired Marcy, who now remembered that there had been something of a commotion outside the house. “Well, there were just three of them, not counting an unarmed negro boy.”

“Do you want me to believe that three conscripts could stand off twenty old soldiers?” demanded the corporal.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Marcy, who was really surprised. “Did you bring twenty men here to capture me? You are a brave lot.”

“Braver than you who took to the woods to keep from going into the army,” answered the angry corporal. “We can’t find hair nor hide of them, sir,” he added, turning to his officer. “But they left us four dead men to remember them by, and nary one wounded.”

Marcy was horrified. Ben Hawkins had followed his own advice and shot to kill. He was glad to hear the corporal say that his friends had managed to escape in the darkness, but what effect would the gallant fight they made have upon his own prospects? He was glad, too, that there was a commissioned officer among his captors, for he did not like the way the corporal glared at him. And finally, would his capture bring Tom Allison and Mark Goodwin into trouble with the refugees?

“It certainly did bring them into trouble,” interrupted Rodney. “They were bushwhacked.”

“How do you know?” demanded Marcy, starting up in his chair.

“Jack said so in his last letter. And he said, further, that your good friends Beardsley and Shelby, and one other whose name I have forgotten, were burned out so clean that they didn’t have a nigger cabin left to shelter them.”

“Were Tom and Mark killed?”

“I suppose they were, but Jack wasn’t explicit on that point. You would be sorry to hear it, of course.”

“I certainly would, for I used to be good friends with those boys before a few crazy men kicked up this war and set us together by the ears,” said Marcy sadly. “But they could blame no one but themselves. I wonder that Beardsley wasn’t bushwhacked also.”

Then Marcy settled back in his chair and went on with his story. He told how he listened to the conclusion of the corporal’s report, during which he learned, what he had all along more than half suspected, that the Confederates had surrounded the house and were lying concealed in the garden when he and his companions arrived. They saw Marcy’s friends reconnoiter the premises, but made no effort to capture them for the reason that they had received strict orders not to move until Captain Fletcher gave the signal, which he did as soon as he saw Marcy enter the house. He and the corporal lost no time in following and coming to close quarters with him, for they knew they would find the boy armed, and that it would be dangerous to give him a chance to defend himself. When they left their place of concealment and ran around the kitchen, they encountered Aunt Martha the cook, who saw and recognized their uniforms as they passed her window, and started at the top of her speed for the house, hoping to warn her young master so that he could escape through the cellar, as he had done once before. But the corporal seized her, promptly choked off the warning cry that arose to her lips, and then began that furious struggle that had attracted Marcy’s attention.

“She was strong and savage,” said the captain with a laugh, “and for a time it looked as though she would get the better of both of us. If she didn’t do that, I was afraid she would make such a fight that you would hear it and dig out; but fortunately two of my men came to our aid just in the nick of time.”

“I hope you didn’t hurt her,” said Marcy.

“I choked her into silence, you bet,” replied the corporal, who then stated that the firing began when the Confederates rose to their feet and tried to capture Marcy’s friends. They got more bullets than captives, however, and the captain had four less men under his command now than he had when the fight commenced.

“You have wagons on the place, I suppose?” said the captain to Marcy, when the corporal intimated by a salute that his report was ended. “Very well. We’ll have to borrow one of them to take the bodies to Williamston. I did intend to visit two other houses to-night, but I shouldn’t make anything by it now, for of course the whole settlement has been alarmed by the firing. Go and see about that wagon, corporal.”

As the non-commissioned officer disappeared through one door Marcy’s mother came in at another, carrying a well-filled valise in her hand. It was not locked, and she opened and presented it for the captain’s inspection.

“There is nothing in it except a few articles which I know will be useful to my boy while he is in the army,” said she.

“That assurance is sufficient,” replied the captain. “Now, as soon as the corporal reports that wagon ready, we will rid your house of our unwelcome presence. I am sorry indeed that I had this work to do, but the Yankees are to blame for it. If they hadn’t shot me almost to death in the last battle I was in, I should now be at the front where I belong. I wish your son might have got away, but I was ordered to take him and I was obliged to do it.”

“We have seen enough of this war to know that a soldier’s business is to do as he is told, no matter who gets hurt by it,” said Marcy, speaking for his mother, who seated herself on the sofa by his side and looked at him as though she never expected to see him again. “I don’t mind telling you, captain, that if I could have had my own way, I should have been fighting under the Old Flag long ago.”

“So I have heard; and there are a good many men in our army who think as much of the Union as Abe Lincoln does,” answered the captain truthfully. “But don’t say that again unless you know who you are talking to.”

“Have you any idea where Marcy will be sent?” asked Mrs. Gray, speaking with an effort.

“Of course I don’t know for certain, but my impression is that he will have to do guard duty somewhere. The authorities used to send conscripts from this State to fill out North Carolina regiments in the field, but they don’t trouble themselves to do it now. They put them on guard duty wherever they want them, and send volunteers to the front.”

“Let that ease your mind, mother,” said Marcy, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “If I am to stay in the rear I shan’t have such a very hard time of it.”

The captain opened his eyes, smiled incredulously, and once or twice acted as if he were on the point of speaking; but he thought better of it, and just then the corporal returned to report that the men had been called in and the wagon was waiting at the door. Captain Fletcher went into the hall while Marcy took leave of his mother, and this gave the latter opportunity to whisper in his ear, as her head rested on his shoulder:

“Be careful of that valise, and the first chance you get take the money out of it. You will find one vest in there, and the gold is in the right-hand pocket. O Marcy, this blow will kill me.”

“You mustn’t let it. I shall surely return, and when I do I want you and Jack here to welcome me.”

The leave-taking was not prolonged,—it would have been torture to both of them,—and when Captain Fletcher reached the carriage porch, where the corporal stood holding three horses by the bridle, Marcy was at his side.

“Mount that horse and come on,” said the captain. “When we overtake the wagon you can put your valise in it.”

But that valise was much too valuable to be placed in the wagon, or anywhere else that a thieving Confederate could get his hands on it, so Marcy replied that if it was all the same to the captain he would tie it to the horn of his saddle, where he could keep an eye on it. He mounted the horse that was pointed out to him, kissed his hand to his mother, said a cheery good-by to the weeping blacks, who had at last found courage to come into the house, and rode on after the wagon, which had by this time passed through the front gate into the road. Marcy was the only prisoner the Confederates captured that night, and he had cost them the lives of four men. The soldier who had once owned the horse he was riding was one of the unfortunates. Marcy would have given much, to know whether Ben Hawkins and his comrades escaped unscathed, but that was something he never expected to hear, for he was by no means as sure that he would come back to his home as he pretended to be. Others had been killed, and what right had he to assume that he would escape?

“This scout hasn’t amounted to a row of pins,” observed Captain Fletcher, when he and Marcy came up with the wagon and rode behind it. “I expected to find the country alive with Yankee cavalry and to fight my way against a small army of refugees, who would ambush me from the time I left Williamston till I got back. That is the reason I brought so large a squad with me. I have been out four days, and what have I to show for my trouble? Four dead men and three prisoners. I don’t like such work, and shall get back to Virginia as soon as I can.”

The captain relapsed into silence, and during the rest of the journey Marcy was at liberty to commune undisturbed with his own gloomy thoughts.