ANOTHER COMMISSION
The horses which De Banyan and Somers rode were those taken from the stable of Captain Sheffield, which had not yet been removed from Dr. Scoville’s stable; while that on which Alick was mounted was one of the best of his master’s stock. The party proceeded through the fields for a short distance till they came to a cross-road, when they put their horses to the top of their speed. The guide was familiar with all the roads in the vicinity. The information which he had obtained from the doctor was exceedingly valuable; for it assured the fugitives in what direction the search for them had been pushed.
Dr. Scoville believed that the prisoners were concealed in the vicinity of the city, and that at night they would attempt to make their way in the direction of City Point; and he assured Alick that they would certainly be caught before morning, for the country in that region was strongly picketed by cavalry. It is more than probable they would have been taken if the doctor had not been so obliging as to inform Alick of these facts. The faithful black, who had served his master, man and boy, for forty years, was entitled to this consideration. Of course, he could not have believed that Alick would be so ungrateful and ungenerous as to run away from him; but it is a fact which speaks well for the negro race, that so many have preferred liberty with toil and hardship to slavery with ease and plenty.
Somers had over-estimated his power of endurance; and a hard gallop of five miles was about the extent of his capacity. The rude jolting of his arm made it extremely painful, while his system, reduced by the fever attending the wound, was incapable of supporting such a heavy draft upon his strength. He bore up against the pain and faintness which beset him as long as he could; but at last, to the oft-repeated inquiries of Captain de Banyan in regard to his condition, he was compelled to answer in the most discouraging terms.
“We must stop and rest,” said the captain. “We have about fifteen miles more to go; and you mustn’t break down yet, Somers.”
“Here, massa, take some of this,” said Alick, as he reined in his horse.
“What is it?” asked Somers faintly.
“Brandy.”
“I can’t drink brandy.”
“It will do you good, my dear boy. There is strength in brandy—only as medicine. Don’t be stubborn, Somers.”
“Good brandy, massa,” added Alick. “I brought it along on purpose for you. I was mighty feared you wouldn’t be able to stand the ride.”
“I am willing to take it if it will do me any good,” said Somers. “I am about used up.”
The sufferer drank two or three swallows of the fiery liquid from the bottle after he had dismounted. The potion gave him an artificial life, which enabled him to ride five miles farther, though at a much slower pace than before. The roads seemed to be entirely deserted, and the party felt satisfied that they had passed out of the reach of a successful pursuit. Another dose of brandy gave Somers strength enough to accomplish fifteen miles of the journey; but at this point he was absolutely unable to sit on his horse. With the assistance of De Banyan, he got off and lay for two hours on the ground, where his devoted companions made him a bed of their coats. Alick produced some bacon and crackers, which he had brought for an emergency, of which Somers partook in small quantities. Pressed by his fellow-fugitives, he again drank some brandy; and while his head was flying round like a top, his friends placed him on the horse again.
In the overpowering weakness and suffering of the hour, Somers had begged his companions to leave him to his fate; but De Banyan declared that he would be hanged a dozen times before he would do so mean and wicked an act. With the fumes of the brandy darting in every direction through his brain, which seemed to be about fifty feet above his shoulders, he spurred on his horse. The liquor had inspired him to a kind of desperation. He hardly knew what he was about, and even forgot the pain of his wounded arm.
“Halt!” shouted De Banyan, as the party dashed over a rude bridge extending across a broad creek. “Halt, Somers!”
But Somers heeded not the word, and still spurred on, till the captain, who rode the fastest animal, could overtake him. He succeeded in stopping the furious rider, and in making him understand that they had reached the end of their journey in this direction. They returned to the bridge, where the sharp eye of the captain had discerned a boat moored to a tree, a short distance below the road. Somers, still stupefied by the effects of the brandy, tamely submitted to whatever disposition his companions chose to make of him. Taking off their coats, they made for him a bed in the bottom of the boat, which was a large yawl, evidently used for conveying merchandise to some point farther up the creek. The horses were turned loose, and the captain and Alick took the oars.
After pulling for half an hour, they were rewarded by a view of the broad river which to them was like the Land of Promise; and moored in the middle there was a steamer, which in those waters could belong to no other party than the United States Government. They rowed out to this vessel, and hailed her. Of course they were cordially welcomed after a satisfactory explanation had been given.
“Glory hallelujah! How do you feel, Somers?” said Captain de Banyan, after he had insured a proper reception on board of the steamer.
“Badly, very badly,” replied Somers faintly.
“Well, cheer up, my boy! We have got home again.”
“Home!” said Somers, raising himself partially up at the sound of that magical word.
The captain and Alick lifted him tenderly, and assisted him up the accommodation-ladder of the steamer. The vessel was a gunboat bound up the river, and was waiting for the daylight. Somers was taken to the ward-room, where the surgeon dressed his arm, and prescribed for his bodily ailments. Alick was duly installed as his nurse, though Captain de Banyan performed the greater part of his duty. But the consciousness that he was again beneath the old flag did more for the patient than even the assiduous care of his devoted friends.
After leaving Petersburg the fugitives had pursued a nearly easterly course till they arrived at the bridge over Chipoak Creek, where they had abandoned their horses, and taken the boat. Alick had chosen this direction to avoid the pickets which were on the lookout for them in the vicinity of the City Point Railroad. His calculations had been well made, and he was rewarded for his zeal and skill by the priceless boon of freedom, which he preferred even to the life of comfort and ease he had enjoyed beneath the roof of his kind but eccentric master.
How Dr. Scoville ever made his peace with the provost-marshal of Petersburg we are not informed; but we will venture to say that his whims were not respected after the events we have narrated. He was a wilful man; but his guests were very sorry to be compelled to make him such an ungenerous return for his noble hospitality. When the war is ended, and he is enabled fully to understand the meaning of treason to our beneficent Government, no doubt he will be very thankful that his prisoner guests escaped as they did.
At nine o’clock on the following morning, the gunboat dropped her anchor off Harrison’s Landing. Somers, who had slept for several hours, was more comfortable, though he was still in a deplorable condition. With the kindly assistance of his friends, he was landed at the pier, and conveyed in an ambulance to the headquarters of the division. Leaning on the arm of De Banyan, he entered the tent of the general.
“Captain Somers!” exclaimed the general. “I had given you up for lost. Why, you have grown ten years older in five days!”
“I have the honor to make my report, general,” said Somers with a faint smile.
“Your report? Good! After losing you, I did not dare to send another officer upon such a perilous errand. But, Captain Somers, you are all used up,” added the general, with a glance filled with sympathy—a look which Somers regarded as an adequate reward for all he had suffered; for to have that man feel an interest in him was better in his estimation than the plaudits of the multitude. “What is the matter with your arm?”
“I was shot at Petersburg,” replied Somers.
“Well, well, captain, you must go to the hospital: and Captain—what’s-his-name——”
“Captain de Banyan, at your service,” promptly responded Somers’s faithful friend.
“Captain de Banyan shall report for you, and tell me all about this scrape,” added the general. “Get into your carriage, Captain Somers, and go to the hospital. I will call and see you to-day or to-morrow.”
“Thank you, general.”
Captain de Banyan assisted him into the ambulance; and, when he had placed him in the care of the surgeon, he returned to headquarters to tell the marvelous story of their capture by the rebels, and their escape from Petersburg. It is quite likely that he did not add his experience in Tennessee; but when the general called on Somers at the hospital the next morning, the latter supplied all that had been withheld. The general had a higher regard for the captain’s patriotism than ever before, for he had voluntarily renounced the ranks of the rebellion, and placed himself on the side of his country. There was nothing against him; on the contrary, his conduct had been in the highest degree praiseworthy. But Captain de Banyan was sensitive on this point; and the general readily promised to conceal what the brave fellow regarded as a stain upon his character.
Captain Somers did not improve so rapidly as his friends desired. The surgeon declared that his night ride from Petersburg, in his feeble condition, had done him more injury than a year’s hard service; and after he had been in the hospital ten days, it was deemed advisable to give him a furlough, and send him home, especially as the division was then under orders to march to Yorktown. The gallant young hero regretted the necessity of leaving the regiment just as he had been promoted; but he was in no condition to endure the long and weary march. He was able to walk about a little; and on the day before the sailing of the transport by which he was to proceed to Washington, he received another visit from the general.
After a few kind inquiries in regard to the invalid’s condition, the general took from his pocket one of those great official envelopes which so often carry joy to the heart of the gallant officer. Somers was amazed. It could not be possible that his own promotion was indicated by this document. It was not three weeks since his commission as captain had reached him; but then Senator Guilford was a great man, and wielded a tremendous influence, both at Washington, and with the military authorities of his native State.
Recalling his former declaration to Captain de Banyan, he was fully resolved to decline any further promotion, at least until he had done something which entitled him to this distinction. The general held up the formidable packet, while Somers’s pale face was suffused with blushes.
“I have brought you a major’s commission, Somers; and I know it will give you joy.”
“Really, sir; ah! general, I don’t think——”
“Don’t you?” laughed the general.
“I don’t deserve it, general; and you will pardon me if I say I cannot accept it. I am very grateful to you; but——”
“Oh, it isn’t for you!” roared the general as he handed him the official paper.
“Major de Banyan!” exclaimed Captain Somers as he read the superscription with a thrill of delight. “It is indeed a joy to me. I am ten times as happy as I should have been if my own name had been coupled with that title. I am ever so much obliged to you.”
“Senator Guilford again! By the way, Captain Somers, you must call on him when you get to Washington.”
“I shall certainly do so. But I know my friend could not have been promoted without the good word which you have spoken for him.”
“Well, it is all right, captain. Major de Banyan is a brave fellow. He has done you a good turn; and I waylaid this document so as to afford you the pleasure of being the first to address him by his new title.”
“Thank you, general.”
“And, captain, if you could prevail on the major to be a little more reasonable in some of the lies he tells, his reputation for veracity would be improved.”
“I will endeavor to do so.”
The general bade the invalid a hearty and even affectionate adieu; and they did not meet again till they grasped hands on the bloody field of Antietam, where Somers acted in a new sphere of duty. No sooner had the general departed, than Somers, inspired to new vigor by the joyful event which had just transpired, hastened to the camp of the regiment.
“Ah, Somers; my dear boy! how are you now?” said his friend as he seized his hand.
“Better, I thank you, Major de Banyan.”
“Come, now, Somers, that is cruel! A friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino——”
“Confound the battle of Solferino, Major de Banyan!”
“I was about to say that a friend of mine, just before the battle of Solferino, made fun of my aspirations, just as you do now——”
“I don’t do anything of the sort. Here’s the official document. If I read right, it says Major de Banyan.”
“Somers,” said the captain, winking very rapidly to dissipate some evidences of weakness which were struggling for existence in his eyes—“Somers, you have done this.”
“I did write to Senator Guilford about you before we went over the river; and now I thank God with all my soul that I did so.”
“Somers, you are one of the best of friends!” exclaimed the major as he stood with the unopened document in his hand.
“And so are you. Without you, I should have been in a rebel prison or under the sod at this time.”
“God bless you, Somers!” ejaculated De Banyan, as with trembling hand he opened the envelope, and took therefrom his major’s commission. “I have loved you just like a younger brother; not selfishly, my dear boy, but with my whole heart. You haven’t disappointed me, only once, when——”
“Don’t mention it. I thought you were a rebel then, but I repented.”
“I don’t blame you. Now, Somers, you are going home. May God bless you and keep you! I shall be as sad as a maiden who has lost her lover, while you are gone.”
“I shall not be absent long. We shall be together again in a few weeks.”
“I hope so. I have no home now. It has been desolated by treason. I heard since I came over that my wife was dead. I had a son, a boy of fifteen; I know not where he is. Well, well; I will not groan or complain. I will do my duty to my country, and that shall cheer my heart;” and with an effort of his powerful will, he banished the sad reflections from his mind, and smiled as though earth had no sorrows. “After the battle of Magenta, I had the blues, and——”
“One word, De Banyan. Were you at the battle of Magenta?” said Somers solemnly.
The major looked on the ground, at the commission he had just received, and then into the sympathizing face of his friend.
“To tell the truth, Somers, I was not; but I fought in every battle in Mexico, from Vera Cruz up to the capital.”
Somers improved this opportunity to repeat the injunction of the general.
“Now promise me, major, that you will never say Magenta or anything of the sort again as long as you live,” added Somers.
“That would be a rash promise. I have got a bad habit, and I will try to cure myself of it. On my soul I will, my dear boy!”
In the course of the conversation the major, who was now in a truth-telling mood, informed Somers that he had, after his escape from the rebel army, enlisted in the regular army, where he had been made a sergeant, and, through the influence of a Massachusetts officer, had been commissioned as a captain. His gallantry had won a swift reward.
On the following day they parted on board the transport in the river; and in that sad hour the friendship which, though brief in duration, had been fruitful enough for a lifetime, was pledged for the future. They parted, De Banyan to mingle in the terrible scenes in which the regiment was engaged before the close of the month, and Somers to bask in the smiles of the loved ones at home. Alick, who had been regularly installed as the captain’s servant, went with him.