ALLAN GARLAND AND FRIENDS
Allan Garland, née Somers, advanced confidently towards the rebel line. As he was to perform the leading part in the exciting drama about to be acted, he conducted himself with the utmost caution. Everything depended upon the amount of impudence he could bring to bear upon the case before him, and the skill with which he personated the part he had chosen. He knew of nothing, short of falling on the Fourth Alabama, which could disconcert him. Even if he did, there were only a few who knew the captured scout; and his chances were fair, even if the worst should befall him.
“Stand!” said a rebel sentinel on the breastwork of the line. “Who goes there?”
“Friend,” replied Somers confidently.
“What’s your name?”
“Allan Garland. Can you tell me where the Fourth Alabama is?”
“About four miles from here. Do you belong to the Fourth Alabama?”
“Well, I did before I was captured; I don’t know where I belong now.”
“Where d’ye come from?”
“Just got away from the Yankees. They gobbled me up about three weeks ago.”
“Bully for you! Come in; you can report to the officer of the day.”
Somers was entirely willing, and hastened in the direction indicated by the sentinel; and was soon ushered into the presence of Major Platner, brigade-officer of the day. He was a very pompous little man, and Somers saw his weakness as soon as he spoke. With a most profound bow, he answered the questions of the major, using the utmost deference in his tone and manner.
“How dare you present yourself before an officer of the day with such a dirty face?” demanded Major Platner.
“I hope your honor will pardon me; but I have just escaped from the Yankees, and have not had time to wash my face. If you please, sir, I will go and do it now. I thought I ought to come to you without any delay.”
“You did right, young man,” replied the major with a consequential flourish of the hand. “You were out scouting when you were taken?”
“Yes, sir.”
Major Platner then proceeded to ask a great many questions in regard to the force and position of the Yankees; all of which Somers answered entirely in the interest of the Union party. He was very careful not to give a particle of information that could be useful to the rebels; at the same time avoiding any gross exaggerations which would throw discredit on his story.
“You seem to be a very intelligent and patriotic young man,” added the officer. “I have heard some inquiries for a person of your description to-day.”
“I have always endeavored to do my duty to my country,” answered Somers, trying to blush under the compliment of the patronizing little major; “and I kept my eyes wide open while I was in the Yankee camps.”
“I see you did. Your information is very definite, and, I doubt not, very reliable.”
“My only desire has been to serve my country, sir,” added Somers very modestly.
“Well, go and wash your face, so that we can see what color you are, and I will report your name to the general, who was inquiring for a useful person like yourself. I trust that you will have discretion enough not to mention anything that has passed between us.”
“Certainly not, sir. I judge, from what you have said, that my poor services may be required for some special service.”
“That is the idea which I intended to convey. In a word, the commander of this division wants information. You have just come from the Yankee lines, and you know where to look for the intelligence that will be of the most value to us.”
“I think I do, sir.”
“The fact that you have just made your way through the Yankee lines shows that you possess the necessary address.”
“I thank you for your good opinion; and I assure you, sir, that I should be very glad to serve my country in any capacity in which she may require my humble labors.”
“Very well, young man.”
“A plan occurs to me now, by which I could easily enter the Yankee lines.”
“Indeed! What is that?”
“When I ran through the enemy’s pickets, they fired upon me, and one of them chased me. I brought him down with my pistol,” replied Somers, producing the weapon, which he had taken the precaution to bring with him. “I know just where that Yankee lies now; I could borrow his uniform, and go in among the enemy without suspicion.”
“Very well arranged, young man.”
The major then directed an orderly to attend to the wants of the fugitive, and gave the latter orders to report to him within two hours. Somers washed his face, and partook of some cold bacon and corn bread, which constituted the staple of the rebel rations. He then told the orderly that he wanted to look round a little, and find his regiment, if he could; but was informed that the camp regulations did not permit any strolling about the camps. He suggested that the officer of the day would give him a pass, and he returned to the major to beg this favor. It was readily granted; and the time for him to report was extended to four hours, as his regiment was situated at some distance from the brigade camp, though it belonged to the same division.
Thus provided, Somers commenced his tour of observation. Of course, he had no intention of visiting the Fourth Alabama; for that would have been putting his head into the lion’s mouth. We need only say, that he used his time to the best advantage for the country in whose service he had enlisted. He noted the brigades, regiments, and batteries of artillery, which he saw in his walk; and arranged a little scheme in his mind, by which he could remember the number of each.
In the course of his perambulations, he reached the Williamsburg road, and was on the point of extending his observations in the direction of the railroad, when he was stopped by a sentinel. He produced his pass, which the rebel soldier could not read; and he was conducted to the sergeant of the guard, who was listening to a conversation between a captain and an old man who appeared to be a farmer. They were bargaining about some forage which the captain wanted, and which the farmer was not disposed to sell.
“What have you there?” demanded the officer, as the sentinel brought in the doubtful case.
“Man with a pass.”
“Your pass is good up to the Williamsburg road, and no farther,” said the sergeant when he had read the document.
“I didn’t know where the lines were,” replied Somers, returning the pass to his pocket.
“Where are you going?” asked the officer, apparently not satisfied with the appearance of the “man with a pass.”
“Looking for my regiment, sir,” replied Somers, giving the military salute; which excess of politeness, however, was lost on the matter-of-fact captain.
“What regiment?”
“The Fourth Alabama.”
“The Fourth Alabama! What are you doing over here, then?”
“I am a stranger in these parts; and I don’t know where to look. I have just escaped from the Yankees, and don’t know much about this part of the country.”
“What is your name?”
“Allan Garland, sir.”
“What!” exclaimed the old farmer, suddenly becoming interested in the conversation.
“In my opinion, you are a deserter,” added the officer in a crabbed tone. “I advise you to arrest him, sergeant. That pass is good for nothing on this road.”
“No, captain, he is not a deserter,” interposed the farmer with energy. “I know him well; and he is as true and patriotic a young man as there is in the Southern Confederacy.”
Somers looked at the farmer with astonishment. He did not remember to have seen him before; and he could not account for the interest he manifested in his case.
“What do you know of him, Mr. Raynes?”
Mr. Raynes! That explained the matter; and Somers could not help shuddering in the presence of the man whose son he had buried in the soft mud of the bog.
“He is my son’s friend,” replied the farmer. “Both of them belong to the Fourth Alabama.”
“That may be, Mr. Raynes; but do you suppose a man looking for the Fourth Alabama would be wandering about here?”
“He is a stranger in Virginia. He came on from Alabama only a few weeks since, and was captured while out on a scouting expedition. I assure you, captain, it is all right; I will vouch for him.”
“Very well, Mr. Raynes! If the sergeant is willing to take your word for it, I have nothing further to say. Indeed, it is no business of mine; but our soldiers are allowed to walk over to the enemy, or back into the woods, without let or hindrance. It’s a disgrace to the service. Major Platner gives this man a pass to go all over the country. Do as you please, sergeant.”
“I mean to,” replied the sergeant in an undertone; for he was not pleased at this interference on the part of a commissary of subsistence, who had nothing whatever to do with the affair. “I am satisfied,” he added aloud.
“Allan, I am very glad to see you; and I thank God that you have been enabled to escape from the Yankees. Have you seen Owen since you got back?”
Somers trembled at the question; and, while he did not dare to tell the old man the truth, the thought of telling him a falsehood was utterly repulsive to his nature. It was easy enough to deceive the enemy in war—his duty called upon him to do this; but to deceive an old, fond father, in regard to a true and devoted son, seemed terrible to him.
“He was out on picket when I came through,” he replied after some hesitation.
“Then you did not meet him. He will be delighted to see you again; for really the boy is as fond of you as he is of his sister.”
Somers found himself unable to answer to the warm congratulations of the old man, or to enter into the spirit of the conversation. The staring, death-sealed eyes of Owen Raynes haunted him; and, when he attempted to reciprocate the friendly sentiments of the doting father, his heart seemed to rise up in his throat, and choke his utterance. The only consolation he could derive from the remembrance of the scene in the woods was in the fact that he had not taken the life of Owen Raynes himself. He wore his clothes, and had his diary and letters in his pocket.
“You are very sad, Allan! I should think you would be happy to escape from the Yankees. They would have starved you to death in time.”
“I think not, sir! They are not so cruel as that,” added Somers, who desired to remove such a reproach from the mind of the old man.
“Perhaps they would not willingly starve their prisoners; but I don’t see how they could avoid it. They say that the people of the North are suffering terribly for the want of food. In New York, the laboring classes have attacked the banks and the flour-stores, urged on by hunger. There will be terrible times in the North before many months have gone by. I pity the people there, though it is their own fault. I hope God will be merciful to them, and spare them from some of the consequences of their own folly. I am thankful that you have escaped from them.”
“I don’t think they are quite so badly off as you say,” answered Somers, provoked by this view of the condition and resources of the North. “I have talked with a great many Yankee soldiers, and they say that plenty abounds in all the Northern States.”
“They would tell you so. They are deceived by their officers.”
“That’s the way it is done,” added the rebel sergeant, who had been listening to the conversation.
“But I saw what rations these soldiers have. They live like lords.”
“That’s the very thing which will starve all the people in the North. Their big armies will eat them out of house and home in a few months, Allan.”
“I think not, Mr. Raynes.”
“A gentleman from New York, who got through the lines last week, says the grass is a foot high in some of the streets of New York. The people can’t find anything to do, and are cursing their rulers for plunging them into this horrid war.”
“I think the gentleman from New York lied,” replied Somers with a smile. “I saw the New York papers every day while I was in the Yankee lines; and they are full of advertisements, which look like business. Why, in one paper I saw four columns of ‘Wants,’ in which people advertised for farm-laborers, house-servants, clerks and sailors.”
“Ah! Allan, those papers are printed to sell in the Yankee army. I’m sure I hope they are not so badly off as has been represented. I should not want my worst enemy to suffer what they are called upon to endure. It is all their own fault; but I hope God will be merciful to them.”
“I think you needn’t feel bad about them,” added Somers, amused, but indignant at the pitiful stories which were circulated in the South to keep up the courage of the people.
“Let that pass, then. Really, Allan, I am very glad to see you. You must go to the house with me. Sue will be delighted to meet you. She talks about you a great deal; and I can insure you a warm welcome.”
“I think I cannot stop to call now; but I will try to come over in a few days,” replied Somers, embarrassed beyond measure at the idea of facing Sue and the rest of the family.
“Not stop!” exclaimed Mr. Raynes, holding up his hands with surprise.
“Not now, sir; I am in no condition to appear before ladies,” he added, extending his arms so as to display his tattered garments to the fullest advantage. “You know a young man is rather particular about his appearance when he is going into the company of ladies, and especially into the presence of some ladies. The fact is, I tore my uniform all to pieces after I passed through the Yankee lines.”
“Never mind your uniform, my boy. It looks as though it had seen service; and that is the best recommendation a young man can have to the girls in these times. You must go, Allan.”
“Indeed, sir, I hope you will excuse me for a few days,” pleaded Somers.
“Come, Allan! this is not kind of you. Sue has been dying to see you for a year. She was terribly disappointed when you did not come up with your regiment, and again when she heard you had joined without calling upon us. If it had been Owen, she could not have felt worse when you were captured. Now you want to disappoint her again.”
“You need not mention that you have seen me, Mr. Raynes,” suggested Somers.
“Not tell her that you have escaped, when she is fretting about you every day of her life! That would be too bad.”
“You can tell her as much as you please without informing her that you have seen me.”
“I could not tell a lie, Allan. It would choke me,” said the old man solemnly. “You must go with me.”
“Let me get another uniform, and it would surprise her when I come.”
“No more words, young man. You must go. It is only a short distance,” replied Mr. Raynes, passing his arm through that of Somers, and walking towards his house. “It will be the happiest day for Sue which she has seen for a year.”
“Happier for her than it will be for me,” thought Somers, who was disposed to break away from the old man, and make his escape.
By this time, Sue had become an awful bugbear to the poor fellow. In these days of photographs, it is more than probable that she had a picture of the original Allan Garland, and the cheat would be discovered the moment he showed his face. He was deliberating a plan for breaking away from his persistent friend, when a young lady of eighteen stepped out from the bushes by the roadside, and hailed the old man.