DE BANYAN AT WORK
“How do you feel, my dear boy?” asked Captain de Banyan as soon as the doctor had left the room.
Somers, by the skilful applications of the physician, had been restored to consciousness, and had listened with astonishment, not unmingled with alarm, to the last part of the conversation between his friend and their host.
“I feel a little better, captain; at any rate, I am more comfortable,” replied Somers.
“I am glad to hear it. I have been terribly worried about you.”
“I think I shall do well enough. But what shall I say for myself?”
“Say nothing, Somers—not a word. Don’t commit yourself to anything.”
“What have you told him?”
“Nothing; and I don’t intend to tell him anything. He is a jolly old fellow, who thinks he is very eccentric, and takes pride in being considered so. When I was in the Crimea——”
“Never mind the Crimea now,” interrupted Somers with a languid smile.
“I was only going to say that I understand the old doctor first-rate, and can manage him as easily as I could an old plow-horse. Keep still, Somers; don’t let on, under any circumstances. Leave me to do all the talking.”
“But the cavalry are after us now.”
“Never mind; the doctor will take care of them.”
“They will recognize our horses, if they don’t know us.”
“No matter if they do.”
Somers thought it was matter; and he could not see for the life of him how De Banyan was to get out of such a scrape as this; for it was an infinitely worse one than his own experience on the Williamsburg road. He could only hope for the best, expecting nothing but disaster.
“Good! Bully for the doctor!” exclaimed De Banyan as the sounds of an excited controversy at the side door reached the ears of the patient and his friend. “He is doing just what I expected him to do.”
“Pray, what did you expect him to do?” asked Somers, who could not see what a rebel surgeon could be expected to do under the circumstances, besides delivering them up to the military authorities.
“I expect him to protect us to the utmost of his ability; and, in my opinion, he has quite as much influence as any other man in Petersburg. When you see a man like Dr. Scoville, you may depend upon it he is a power in the community where he lives. He knows it as well as any other person. Let the doctor alone, and he will manage the matter as skilfully as he dressed your wounded arm.”
Whatever confidence Captain de Banyan had in the will and the ability of Dr. Scoville to protect them, he was curious to hear what the soldiers and what the doctor had to say. He was not quite willing to be seen by the rebel soldiers; so he passed quickly into the entry, and took a position where he could hear without being observed.
“Do you know who I am, you villain?” demanded the doctor, in tones so full of rage, that the troopers ought to have been annihilated, though it appears that they were not.
“I don’t care who you are; I want the men that came here an hour ago,” replied one of the troopers.
“If Jeff Davis himself came for them, he couldn’t have them!” roared Dr. Scoville.
“I tell you, sir, one of them is a deserter, and the other is a Yankee.”
“I don’t care what they are. Report my answer to the provost-marshal; tell him Dr. Scoville will be responsible for the safety of the men.”
“I won’t report any such answer to him.”
“If a man of you attempts to enter my house, I’ll shoot him!” replied the doctor, taking a rifle from a nail in the entry.
“Very well, sir; if you can shoot any better than we can, you may begin,” said the soldier. “But, as sure as you fire, you are a dead man.”
“And those of you whom I don’t shoot will be hung as soon as you report the death of Dr. Scoville at headquarters.”
Whatever the soldiers thought, they were not willing to assume the responsibility of shooting a man like the doctor, whose splendid mansion was a guaranty of his wealth and high standing, and whose strong words assured them that he was a man of influence. Even the possibility of being hanged in such a cause was not agreeable to contemplate; and the doctor carried the day against his assailants.
“I don’t want to shoot you, Dr. Scoville; but I shall put a guard over your house, and wait for further orders,” said the soldier, who appeared to be a sergeant.
“Do anything you please; but don’t you enter my house. Every man, woman and child here is under my protection,” replied the doctor, as he restored the rifle to its original position; and the troopers retired from the door.
Captain de Banyan withdrew from the hall, and joined Somers in the sitting-room, where he was immediately followed by the doctor. The situation did not look very hopeful, even to a man of such desperate fortunes as the bold Tennessean. The house was surrounded by rebel soldiers, and a report of the case would probably be made to the provost-marshal; therefore it was not at all likely that the doughty doctor could long remain contumacious.
“So, my mysterious friend, you are a Confederate deserter, are you?” said the doctor, as he placed himself in front of the captain, thrust his hands deep down into the pockets of his pants, and stared at his guest with all the vigor of an active and piercing eye.
“You say that I am; but I adhere to my original resolution, to say nothing at present,” replied De Banyan, returning the gaze of the doctor as earnestly as it was given.
“If you were Abe Lincoln himself, you are safe in my house,” said the doctor after a long pause. “But I wish you to understand clearly and precisely what I mean. I am not the man to shield a deserter or a Yankee from the penalty due to his crimes. You came into my house with a wounded man. I am an Arab on the subject of hospitality. Whoever comes into my house is my guest; and I never betrayed a man who trusted in me.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You needn’t thank me, for I despise you from the deepest depths of my heart; and in due time you will fall into the hands of the military authorities, but not in my house.”
“Thank you, Dr. Scoville. I appreciate your hospitality, and despise you as much as you do me,” answered De Banyan.
“Despise me! How dare you——”
“Oh! I dare do anything; and I beg leave to inform you that neither myself nor my friend will fall into the hands of the soldiers, either in your house or outside of it. You can set your mind entirely at ease on that subject.”
“I am tempted for once to violate even my own law of hospitality.”
“As you please, doctor; that matter is for you to consider, not for me. But I beg you to understand precisely what I say. I am very thankful to you for your kindness; and I assure you that whatever you do and say, I shall remember your hospitality with the most grateful emotions. I speak for myself and for my friend.”
Dr. Scoville seemed to be very much perplexed, as the captain evidently intended he should be; and, turning abruptly from the deserter, he paced the room, rapidly and in silence, for several minutes. De Banyan sat down by the side of Somers, and said a great many comforting things to him, which, in his weak and suffering condition, were as grateful as a woman’s smile at the couch of pain.
Breakfast was ready, and with the utmost politeness the doctor conducted his guest to the table, while one of the black women was ordered to supply the wants of the patient on the sofa. During the meal, not a word was said about the war, or the peculiar circumstances under which the patient and his friend had come to the house. The captain discoursed about the wars in other lands, and it is more than probable that he exercised the credulity of the doctor to the utmost. Both the host and the guest were affable to the last degree; for the choleric physician was conscious that he had more than a match in the other.
After breakfast, Somers was conducted to the guest-chamber on the second floor of the mansion. He was as tenderly cared for by the doctor and the servants as though he had been an honored friend, instead of a hunted enemy. In the course of the forenoon, Dr. Scoville received a visit from the provost-marshal, attended by half a company of cavalry. Of course, the captain was exceedingly curious to know the result of this interview, which was conducted in the most courteous manner; and he was so impolite as to play the part of a listener. The officer was informed that Captain Sheffield had been dangerously wounded by the fugitives; but the eccentric physician positively refused to have his guests taken from his house, assuring the provost-marshal that he would be responsible for their safe-keeping, and offered to board a dozen men who should be employed in guarding them. The officer protested in gentlemanly terms against such a course; but it was evident that the doctor was the greatest man in Petersburg, and must have his own way.
The result of the conference was, that the provost-marshal yielded the point, and a sentinel was placed at the door of Somers’s chamber, to which the captain had retreated. The officer visited the room, and fully identified his prisoner, between whom and himself a sharp conversation ensued, much to the amusement of the doctor. The captain was assured that in due time, he should swing, which pleasant information he received with becoming good nature, promising to be present when the exciting event should take place. The provost-marshal retired, satisfied with the precautions he had taken.
For the following three days, the sentinel at the door, with a loaded musket in his hand, kept guard over his prisoners. Somers had improved rapidly, though by the advice of his managing friend, he pretended to be much worse than he really was. Dr. Scoville, though he still kept his word and maintained his position with regard to the prisoners, continually “thorned” the captain with a prospect of the gallows, which he declared was his certain doom. De Banyan still preserved his equanimity, and still declared that he should never be hanged.
“What do you intend to do?” asked Somers on the third day of his confinement, after the doctor had taunted his guest with more than usual severity.
“I haven’t the least idea, my dear boy,” replied the captain with a grim smile. “So far, I have no plans. When you are able to move, Somers, we will see what can be done.”
“I can move now; you need not delay a single hour on my account. I am all right but my arm.”
De Banyan was by no means as cheerful as he appeared to be. He was troubled, and paced the room with uneasy tread; but, the moment the doctor entered the room, he was as gay as a Broadway beau. Somers had vainly attempted to persuade him to make his own escape, and leave him to his fate; but the brave fellow steadily refused to desert him under any circumstances that could possibly present themselves.
The captain was remarkably still for him, after Somers had convinced him that he was able to move. He paced the room as before; but his eyes were glancing uneasily at the floor, the ceiling, and the walls of the apartment. The work had commenced in his mind; and Somers watched his movements with interest, yet without hope. On one side of the fire-place in the room there was a door, which was locked, but which evidently opened into a closet.
Before this door, De Banyan suddenly came to a dead halt. He examined it with the utmost care; and then with a fork from the breakfast things which had not been removed, he commenced operations upon the lock. One of the prongs of the fork was broken off between two bricks in the fire-place, and the other bent; so that the instrument formed a very good pick-lock. The door was opened without the expenditure of much time or patience; and the captain proceeded to explore the interior of the closet, after instructing his fellow-prisoner to give him timely warning of any movement on the part of the sentinel.
Somers did not see the captain again for half an hour, but when he came out he looked as though he had endured the tortures of a month of suspense; but, with a ghastly smile, he told his companion that the hour for action had come.
“What do you mean, captain?” demanded Somers.
“Let us use haste; we shall have more time to talk to-morrow, when we get back to the camp on the other side of the James River. Are you very sure that you can stand the fatigue of a long walk?”
“I know I can.”
“Then come with me; but a particle of noise will be fatal to us.”
De Banyan led the way to the closet; but, before he entered himself, he tied together the two sheets of the bed, and made one end fast to one of the bed-posts, near a window at the end of the house, which he opened without noise. Dropping the sheet out, he retreated to the closet, and with the pick-lock secured the door. They were in darkness now, and seating themselves on the floor, with palpitating hearts they waited the issue. For more than an hour they waited the expected alarm. They could occasionally hear a movement on the part of the sentinel in the entry; but he probably thought it was foolish to be very vigilant over a man so sick as Somers. But the demonstration came at last; and the prisoners, sweltering in the confined air of the closet, listened with breathless interest to the shouts of the soldiers outside, and to the rapid steps of those within the mansion.
The doctor and the sentinel entered the chamber so lately occupied by the prisoners. The former swore in no measured terms at the faithlessness of the sentry at the door, and at the stupidity of those who guarded the house outside. But they seemed to have no doubt as to the manner of the escape.
There was the open window, and the rope made of the bed-linen, which De Banyan had pulled with his hands till it had the appearance of having sustained a great weight. Dr. Scoville did not even try the door of the closet; and the anxious listeners soon had the pleasure of hearing the sounds of horses’ hoofs, as the cavalry rode off to engage in the search for the fugitives.
Everything about the house soon subsided into the most profound quiet, and it was evident that the doctor and all the soldiers were engaged in the search. After this solemn stillness had continued for a time, they heard the voices of the servants in the chamber. They talked about the escape, and all of them expressed a hope that “poor young massa would get out ob de way.” Here was an opportunity for an alliance, offensive and defensive, which the prudent captain could not reject. Carefully opening the door, he presented himself to the astonished negroes. With considerable difficulty, he hushed their noisy exclamations, and opened the case so eloquently, that all three of them readily promised to help the fugitives in making their escape. They grinned with delight when they comprehended the trick by which the doctor and the soldiers had been put on the wrong scent.
With their assistance, the fugitives left the house, and made their way to the stable, where Alick, the man who had waited upon them in the room, raised a plank in the floor, and introduced them to secure but not very comfortable quarters under the building. There was no cellar under the stable, and the space which they occupied was not more than two feet in height; but what it lacked in this direction, it made up in length and width.
When the fugitives were fairly installed in their new hiding-place, Alick sat down on the floor, and told them all he knew about the events which had transpired since their absence had been discovered. He brought them an abundant supply of food and drink, and promised to provide them with horses as soon as it was dark. It was nearly night before the doctor returned; and while attending to his horse, Alick asked him some questions about the chase. He was not very communicative, for, of course, the pursuit had been unsuccessful; but the ingenious black wormed some facts out of him in regard to the events of the day, which enabled him to be of great assistance to the fugitives.
The doctor had hardly gone into the house before Alick commenced his preparations for departure; and three horses instead of two were in readiness when Somers and the captain emerged from their covert. Alick was to be one of the party; and by the fields in the rear of the house they commenced their perilous journey.