Frank on a Gun-Boat

by Harry Castlemon

CHAPTER XVI.

A Friend in Need.

In the evening, at dark, they resumed their journey. They boldly followed the road, and met with no opposition until just before daylight, when a voice directly in front of them shouted, "Halt!"

"Now, boys," whispered the major, "our safety depends upon our nerve. It is so dark they can't see our faces, so don't be frightened at any thing that may happen. Captain, take care of that prisoner, and remember and blow his brains out the moment he makes the least attempt at escape."

"Who goes there?" shouted the voice again.

"Scouts!" answered the major, promptly.

"Advance, one scout, and give the counter sign."

The Major accordingly advanced to the place where the sentry was standing, and the captain cautiously cocking his musket, placed its cold muzzle against the prisoner's head, whispering, between his clenched teeth:

"I guess you hear what the major did said, ain't it? Well, then, don't say somethings."

The laconic captain probably thought this warning sufficient, for he brought his musket to an "order arms," and did not afterward even deign to cast a single glance at the prisoner.

In the mean time, the major was endeavoring to convince the lieutenant of the guard that, although they did not have the countersign, they were in reality Confederate soldiers.

"It may be that you'uns is all right," said the lieutenant, after reading, by the aid of a dark lantern, the papers which Frank had captured. "But, you see, thar's so many of these yere Yanks running away, that we'uns has got to be mighty careful how we let folks go past."

"I tell you," said the major, speaking as though he considered himself highly insulted, "I tell you, that I am on special service by order of General Taylor. I have been out on a scout to recapture the very prisoners you have just mentioned. I have already caught one of them," he added, pointing to their prisoner, who, let it be remembered, was dressed in Frank's uniform.

"If you'uns is out on a scout," said a soldier, who had been aroused from his blanket, and pressed up to obtain a glance at the major, "whar's your hosses?"

"I left them about a mile down the river. I have already been through your lines once to-night, and I might have gone through this time without your knowledge, if I had seen fit to do so."

"Maybe it's all right," said the lieutenant, shaking his head dubiously; "but I'll be dog-gone if I don't think I've seen your face somewhere before;" and as he said this he raised the lantern, and allowed the light to shine full upon him. Frank, who had been waiting impatiently for the interview to be brought to a close, gave himself up for lost when he saw a smile of triumph light up the rebel's face. But the major was equal to the emergency. Meeting the lieutenant's gaze without flinching, he replied, carelessly:

"Very likely you have. I have been in the service ever since the war broke out. But do you intend to allow us to proceed, or shall I be obliged to report you at head-quarters? Remember, I can say that you do not keep a very good watch, seeing I have already passed you once."

This threat seemed to decide the lieutenant, who replied, "I guess it's all right—you'uns can pass."

When Frank heard this, it seemed as though a heavy load had been removed from his breast. But the hardest part of the trial, with him, had yet to come. What if he should be recognized? But he had that risk to run; so, summoning up all his fortitude, he marched with his companions by the guards, apparently as unconcerned as though he was entering a friendly camp.

The moment they got out of hearing of the tread of the sentinel, the major turned from the road and led the way into the woods. After walking a short distance, at a rapid pace, he whispered:

"Perhaps we fooled the rascals, but I think not. I didn't like the way that lieutenant eyed me. I am certain we shall be pursued as soon as he can send for assistance; and the best thing we can do is to get away from here. So, forward, double-quick. Don't make too much noise now. Captain, look out for that prisoner."

It was well that the major had adopted the precaution of leaving the road and taking to the woods, for, in less than half an hour after they had passed the guards, a squad of cavalry came up, having a full and correct description of Frank and his companions. By some means, the capture of the rebel lieutenant had become known, and a portion of his own regiment—which had followed Frank from Shreveport, but which had given up the chase and returned—had again started in pursuit. The guards were astounded when they learned that the young gun-boat officer (with whose flight and subsequent almost miraculous escapes from recapture every scout in the country was acquainted) had been within their very grasp, and a portion of them joined the cavalry in pursuit; but, as they kept on down the road, Frank and his companions again escaped. They had heard their pursuers pass by, and knowing that the country would be thoroughly alarmed, and that it would be useless to attempt to reach Red River at present, they directed their course toward Washita River, which lay about thirty-five miles distant, hoping to deceive the rebels as to their real intentions, and thus, by drawing their pursuers into the country, leave their avenue of escape unobstructed.

One clear, moonlight night they halted, as usual, in the rear of a plantation, and were debating upon the best means to be employed in obtaining food, when a man, dressed in a shabby Federal uniform, was discovered coming slowly toward them, on the opposite side of the fence that separated the woods from the plantation.

His sudden and wholly unexpected appearance took them completely by surprise. Frank immediately proposed to challenge him. Perhaps, like themselves, he was a fugitive from a rebel prison, and in need of assistance. But the captain strongly opposed this, and was in favor of shooting the man, who still continued to advance, as if wholly unconscious of the presence of any one—arguing, in his broken English, and with good reason, too, that the appearance of a Federal uniform in that part of the country boded them no good, but was a sure sign of treachery; and evidently thinking that he had won the day, he was about to put his plan into execution, when the major struck up his musket, and shouted:

"Who comes there?"

The stranger, instead of replying, instantly threw himself on the ground behind the fence, out of sight.

"Gott in himmel, major," exclaimed the disappointed captain, "I pelieve it's better you shoots that man—purty quick we all gets ketched again;" and as he said this the captain, who, although a very brave man on the field of battle, was very much opposed to fighting an invisible enemy, drew himself behind a tree, as if fully expecting to see a whole army of rebels rush out of their concealments upon them.

"Be quiet, captain," said the major. "You have grown very suspicious lately." Then, raising his voice, he called out: "Whoever you are behind that fence, whether a friend or an enemy to the Union, come out immediately, or you are a dead man."

A deep silence, which lasted for several seconds, followed his words. Then came the ominous click of half a dozen gun-locks, which, in the stillness of the night, could be heard a long distance.

The stranger evidently heard it too, for, without further hesitation, he arose from behind the fence, and came forward.

The major allowed him to approach within a few yards, and then ordered him to halt, and inquired:

"Now, sir! who and what are you? Tell the truth, for you have desperate men to deal with."

"From your language," answered the stranger, in a voice so soft that it was almost feminine, but which, nevertheless, betrayed not the slightest trepidation, "I should judge that you are escaped prisoners; if so, permit me to make one of your number. If not, you will find me as desperate as yourselves; for I have suffered too much in prison to ever allow myself to be taken back alive;" and, as he spoke, he displayed a brace of pistols, which showed that he meant what he said.

"Gott in himmel!" exclaimed the captain, springing out from behind his tree, and forgetting, in a moment, all his suspicions, "vos you captured, too? We been mighty glad to see you, any how."

"Yes," answered the man, "I have been a prisoner for twenty-two months, and it was not until three weeks since that I succeeded in making my escape."

"We'll take your story for what it is worth, at present," said the major, "for we can not stop to talk. We must first make some arrangements about obtaining something to eat, and then we must be off."

"My haversack has just been replenished," said the stranger, "and we have sufficient to last us for a day or two, at least."

"Well, let us be moving, then."

The major, as usual, led the way, and Frank walked beside the stranger, who firmly, but respectfully, repelled every attempt he made to enter into conversation, a circumstance which Frank regarded with suspicion.

At length day began to dawn, and the fugitives commenced to cast sidelong glances at their new companion. He was a tall, slimly-built youth, apparently but little older than Frank, and his boyish face wore a look of care and sorrow, which if once seen could never be forgotten, and which showed that, young as he was, his path through life had been any thing but a smooth one. His clothing was reduced almost to tatters; but still there was enough of it left to show that it was "Uncle Sam's blue;" and, as Frank surveyed him from head to foot, he discovered something hanging to one of the shreds of his coat, which immediately interested him in the silent stranger. It was a navy button. This was enough for Frank, who, forgetting the manner in which his advances had been received, inquired:

"Are you a naval officer, sir?"

"Yes," answered the youth, in a low voice, "or, rather, I was once."

"So was I. Give us your hand."

The sad, gloomy look gave way to a smile of genuine pleasure, as the stranger grasped the proffered hand, and shook it heartily.

"What vessel were you attached to, and when and how were you captured?" inquired Frank.

But his companion had relapsed into his former state of gloominess and silence, and seemed to be pondering upon something at once painful and interesting.

Frank made no further attempts to draw him into conversation, and, just as the sun was rising, the major gave the order to halt. He also had noticed the sorrowful look of the young stranger, and, attributing it to a depression of spirits, which any one would feel at finding himself in such circumstances, addressed him, as he came up, with:

"My friend, you appear to be sorely troubled about something. Cheer up; it does no good to be despondent. I know our case is desperate, but it is not altogether hopeless. We do not intend to be recaptured, as long as one of us has strength to draw a trigger."

"I am not troubled about that, sir," answered the youth, throwing himself wearily on the ground. "The cause of my sorrow dates further back than my capture and confinement in prison. I know that I am not the only one who has suffered during this rebellion; but mine is a peculiar case. I have not known a happy day since the war commenced. Every tie that bound me to earth was severed when the first gun was fired on Fort Sumter."

"Ah!" exclaimed Frank, guessing the truth at once. "Then your relatives are rebels."

"Yes, they are; and the most bitter kind of rebels, too. I have kept my secret until I can no longer endure it. I have become completely discouraged, and am greatly in need of what I at first shunned—sympathy. If you will bear with me, I will tell you my circumstances. It will serve to relieve me, and may interest you, and prove that I am really what I profess to be, an escaped prisoner."

"Certainly, let us hear it. Go on," said the major.

Thus encouraged, the youth proceeded:

"My name is George Le Dell; and I am the youngest son of General Le Dell, of the Confederate army. My home is, or rather was, on the Washita River, about ten miles from this very place. When I was seventeen years of age, I was sent North to complete my education, at Yale College, and was just about commencing my senior year, when I received this letter from my father."

Here George paused, and drew from his pocket a bundle of papers, carefully tied up, and, producing a letter, from which the writing was almost obliterated, he handed it to Frank, who read aloud as follows:

CATAHOOLA PARISH, February 12, 1861.

MY DEAR GEORGE:

Your letter of the 2d ult. was duly received.

Although your ideas of the civil war, to which you seem to look forward with such anxiety, are rather crude, you are, in the main, correct in your conjectures as to our intentions. Secession is a fixed fact. You know it has often been discussed by our leading men, and the election of Mr. Lincoln has only served to precipitate our action. Had he been defeated, it might have been put off four years longer; but it would be certain to come then. For years the heaven-sanctioned institution of slavery has been subjected to all the attacks that the fiendish imaginations of the Yankee abolitionists could suggest, and we are determined to bear with them no longer. We intend to establish a confederacy of our own, whose corner-stone shall be slavery.

I wish you to come home immediately, as I have secured you a first lieutenant's commission in a cavalry company, which is to be mustered into my regiment. Your brothers have already accepted theirs, and are drilling their companies twice every week. Of course, we do not expect a war, for we have kept the cowardly Yankees under our thumbs so long that they will not dare to oppose us. However, we consider it best to be on the safe side.

Inclosed I send you a check for two hundred dollars, which, I think, will be sufficient to pay all your bills, and to defray your expenses home.

Your mother and sisters send their love.

Hoping to see you soon, and to join hands with you in destroying every vestige of the old Union, I remain,

Yours, affectionately, EDWARD LE DELL.

While Frank was reading this letter, George had sat with his face buried in his hands, not once moving or giving a sign of life: but, as soon as the letter was finished, he raised his pale face, and inquired, in a husky voice:

"What do you think of that? It does not seem possible that a father, who had the least spark of affection for his son, could advise him to follow such a course, does it? Turn the letter over, and you will see a copy of my answer written on the back."

It ran as follows:

YALE COLLEGE, March 20, 1861.

MY DEAR FATHER:

You can not imagine with what feelings of astonishment and sorrow I read your letter of the 12th ult., which was received nearly three weeks since. The reason for my delay in replying you can easily divine. Has it, then, come to this? Is it possible that, in order to do my duty to my country, I must be willing to incur the displeasure of my father? What would you have me do? Assist in pulling down the old flag, and in breaking up the best government the world over saw? Why, father, this is downright madness. I can not "join hands" with you in so unholy a cause. On the contrary, as long as that flag needs defenders, you will find me among them. You are deceiving yourself when you say the "cowardly Yankees" will not fight. They are a people "slow to wrath," but they are not cowards, father; and you will find, to your sorrow, that they will resist, to the death, "any and every attempt to alienate any portion of this Union from the rest."

Living in the South, as I have, I have long seen this war brewing, but was unwilling to confess it, even to myself; and I had hoped, that if it did come, my father would not countenance it. Why will you do it? You never, never can succeed. The very first attempt you make to withdraw from your allegiance to the United States will be the signal for a war, the like of which the world has never witnessed, and the blood of thousands of men, who will be sacrificed to glut your ambition, will be upon your own heads.

Inclosed, I respectfully return the check, with many thanks for your kindness. I can not use it for the purpose you wish.

Hoping and praying that you and my brothers will consider well before you take the step that will bring you only suffering and disgrace, and will use all your influence to prevent the effusion of blood that must necessarily follow the suicidal course you would pursue, I am, as ever,

Your affectionate son, GEO. LE DELL.

"That was the best I could do at the time," said George, as Frank finished the letter. "I believe I must have been crazy when I wrote it. If I could only have known as much as I do now, I think I could have made a much better plea than that."

"Didn't it have any effect upon your father?" inquired the major.

"Effect!" repeated George. "Yes, it had the effect of making him disinherit and cast me off. Read that," he continued, handing Frank another soiled paper, which looked as though it had been read and thumbed continually. "I felt like one with his death-warrant when I received that."

It ran thus:

CATAHOOLA PARISH, March 31, 1861.

SIR:

In reply to your scandalous and insulting letter, I have but a few words to say.

This, then, is the only return you have to make for all the favors I have showered upon you! I had expected great things of you, George, for you have the abilities that would have raised you to a high position in the South; and it seems hard that my fond hopes should be dashed to the ground, by one fell blow, given, too, by your own hand. But I know my duty; and now, sir, I have done with you. I cast you off forever. You will never enter my house again; and not a cent of my property shall ever be possessed by you—no, not even if you were starving. I have instructed my family to forget that such a person as George Le Dell ever existed. Take part with our oppressors, if you choose, but be assured that the justly-merited consequences of your folly will be visited upon you.

In conclusion, I have to say, that if any more letters are received from you, they shall be returned unopened.

EDWARD LE DELL.

"Now you can see exactly how I am situated," said George, taking the letter from Frank's hand, and putting it with the others carefully away in his pocket. "Do you wonder, then, that I am sorrowful, cut off as I am from all my relatives, with strict orders never to cross the threshold of my father's house again, not even if I am dying for want of food? You have, doubtless, heard of the malignity displayed by the rebel leaders toward any Southerner who dares to differ with them in opinion, and have looked upon them as idle stories, gotten up for effect; but I know, by the most bitter experience, that it is a reality. Does it seem possible that a person can be so blind, and act with such cruelty toward a son?

"When the war was fairly begun," he continued, "I kept the vow I had made—that as long as the old flag needed defenders, I should be found among them, by enlisting as fourth master, in what was then called the 'Gun-boat Flotilla,' about to commence operations on the Western waters. I participated in the battle of Island No. 10; was at the taking of Memphis, and at St. Charles; when the 'Mound City' was blown up, I barely escaped being scalded to death. I was on the 'Essex,' when she ran the batteries at Vicksburg, and during the subsequent fight, which resulted in the defeat of the 'Arkansas' ram. About a month after that I was captured with a party of men, while on shore on a foraging expedition. I fought as long as I could, for I knew that death would be preferable to the treatment I should receive; but I was overpowered, and finally surrendered to save the lives of my men. The rebels, of course, immediately commenced crowding about us, and the very first officer I saw was my brother Henry, who had risen to the position of adjutant, in father's regiment. He instantly recognized me, and, after giving strict orders that I should be closely confined, rode off. I had many acquaintances in the regiment. Some of them had been my classmates at college; and the story of my treason, as they called it, was given a wide circulation. I fared even worse than I had expected. My food was of the very worst quality, and barely sufficient to sustain life. I was never allowed a shelter of any kind, not even a blanket; and, when my clothing was worn out, I could not obtain another suit. 'Stick to your dirty blue,' said the officer under whose charge I had been placed, 'and every time you look at it, think of the meanness of which you have been guilty.'

"At length, to my relief, the order came for me to be transferred to the prison at Tyler. When I arrived at that place, I was thrust into an old slave-pen, where I was contained nearly twenty months before I succeeded in effecting my escape. I was given to understand that it had been ordered that I was not to be exchanged, but might expect to die a traitor's death at no distant day. Whether or not this was intended to terrify me, I do not know; but, since my escape, I have thought that there were some good grounds for fear; for, during my journey from Tyler to Shreveport, I was not once out of hearing of the blood-hounds that were following my trail. The only support I have had is the consciousness that I have tried to do my duty. If it were not for that, I should be the most miserable person in the world; and I should not care how soon some rebel bullet put an end to my existence.

"Although I am now looked upon by my relatives as a stranger and an outcast, I have determined to visit once more the place which, long ago, I used to call home. It is only ten miles from here, and not a step out of our way. Will you accompany me?"

Of course, this strange proposition at first met with strong opposition, especially from the captain. But George assured them that there was not the slightest danger, as all the troops in that part of the country had been ordered to Fort De Russy, and were hourly expecting an attack; consequently they would find no one at home except George's mother, sisters, and a few old negroes who were too feeble to work on the fortifications. Besides as all the troops were now at Red River, their safest course would be to abandon, for awhile, at least, the idea of taking it as their guide to the Mississippi. This silenced their objections, and, after the sentinels for the day had been selected, the fugitives, stretching themselves out on the ground, and fell asleep—all except Frank, who leaned back against a tree. While he kept watch over his sleeping companions, he pondered upon the history of their new acquaintance, and admired the high sense of duty and patriotism that had animated him to make so great a sacrifice for the sake of the "old flag."