THE THIRD TENNESSEE
Probably there was no one in either party who was so thoroughly bewildered by the incident which had just transpired as Captain Somers. The mystery of his companion’s antecedents was in a fair way to be cleared up, though in a very unsatisfactory manner to those most intimately concerned. The conversation, and the verification of the rebel officer’s statements, showed that De Banyan was not De Banyan; that the brave and brilliant Federal officer was not a Federal officer; that, of all he had been, only the “brave” and “brilliant” remained.
It was painfully evident that the bold and dashing captain was, or had been, a rebel officer. Somers was terribly shocked at the discovery, even while it was a satisfaction to have the mystery of his companion’s previous life explained. For the time, he forgot the perils of his own situation in the interest he felt in the affairs of his friend. Perhaps De Banyan was a spy, who had been serving in the Union army for the purpose of conveying information to the enemy. He had been very glad of the opportunity to cross the river; and it seemed probable to our hero that he wished to return to his friends. It is true, the efficient services of the captain in the Army of the Potomac, his readiness at all times to fight the rebels, and especially his shooting down the enemy’s pickets in the swamp, were not exactly consistent with such a record; but perhaps he had done these things to keep up appearances, and thus enable him the better to promote the objects of the rebellion.
He was anxious to hear the captain’s explanation of these gross charges; but, of course, that was utterly impracticable at present. In the meantime, there was no room to doubt that the cavalry officer had all the truth on his side. He had hinted very strongly that De Banyan was a deserter; but he might have deserted for the purpose of performing the special duty which had been assigned to him. Officers and soldiers, sent out as spies, had often incurred the odium of such a reputation, in order to keep their own counsels, and serve their country the more faithfully.
If Captain de Banyan was a deserter in appearance only, he would, of course, soon be able to make his fidelity and patriotism apparent to the rebel authorities; and being a patriot, in the traitor use of the word, he could not do less than denounce his companion as a Federal spy. Whatever turn the affair might take, Somers felt that his own chances of escape were every moment becoming beautifully less. If De Banyan was a faithful rebel, there was proof positive that his companion was a spy; if not, he was in the company of a deserter, and would be subjected to all manner of suspicion.
De Banyan still held his head up, and did not lose his impudence, even after the letters had been found upon his arm. He did not appear to be at all confused by the discovery and the triumph of the cavalry officer’s argument. He punched Somers in the side with his elbow; but the latter was unable to divine the significance of this movement.
“Well, Barney, I wish somebody else had caught you instead of me; for it is not pleasant to find an old friend under such circumstances.”
“If you please, captain, I haven’t the pleasure of knowing your name.”
“Come, Barney, don’t keep up this farce any longer.”
“I was about to beg the favor, that you would not call me by that offensive name any longer.”
“You seem to be changing your colors very rapidly,” laughed the officer. “When I first saw you, you were a rough-spoken fellow; but now you use the language of a polished gentleman. Barney, you and I were good friends in the Third Tennessee; and, though I am sorry to meet you under these circumstances, we must both make the best of it.”
“I tell you, captain, you are entirely mistaken in your man. I never was in Tennessee in my life.”
“Good! You were always celebrated for monstrous stories; and they are fully in keeping with your past history. Well, since you refuse to recognize an old friend, of course I shall be excused for any unpleasant measures to which I may be compelled to resort.”
“Anything you please, captain, so long as you refrain from calling me Barney, which in my estimation is a low and vulgar cognomen, that I am unwilling to have applied to me.”
“Who is the man with you?” demanded the officer in more business-like tones.
“His name is Tom Leathers; he’s a pilot on the James. We refer you to Captain Osborn for evidence of our character. We came here to do a job for him.”
“All right, then. Captain Osborn lodges at the next house on this road, and we will let him speak for the other man. He can’t speak for you; for I know you better than he does, or any other man who has not served in the Third Tennessee. As you were going this way, you can walk along with us.”
“Thank you for the polite invitation, and this is a handsome escort for a man of my humble pretensions.”
The captain of the company ordered his men to keep back, and Somers and De Banyan walked by the side of his horse, a few yards in advance of the platoons. He had evidently adopted this method to draw out his prisoners; for as such our officers were compelled to regard themselves.
“Marvel, you used to be a very sensible fellow when you were in the Third Tennessee,” said the rebel captain. “I am surprised to see you adopting such a stupid method to conceal your identity.”
“I had good reasons for it,” replied De Banyan, casting his eyes behind him, as if to assure himself that none of the soldiers were within hearing.
“What reasons?” asked the officer curiously.
“I should think a man of your discretion would easily understand the reason, without any explanation. If I am to be tried for any offense, I don’t want to be judged by a whole company of cavalry. You know I always took pride in my reputation.”
“I used to think so; but, when we missed you one day, we got rid of that opinion in the Third Tennessee.”
“Then you wronged me; for I have faithfully served my country from that day to this.”
“I am glad to hear it, and I hope you will be able to prove what you have said. How came you here?”
“I came over from the other side of the river last night. You intimated that my departure from the Third was not all regular,” added the captain.
“In a word, it was understood that you had deserted.”
“That was a mistake.”
“I am very glad to hear it; but you will remember that your loyalty to the Southern Confederacy was not above suspicion when you joined the regiment.”
De Banyan punched Somers with his elbow at these words, as though he wished him to take particular notice of them; but his admiring friend needed no such admonition to induce him to give strict attention to the statement, for it was the most satisfactory remark he had heard during the interview. Captain de Banyan rose twenty-five per cent in his estimation at the utterance of those words, however injurious they were in the opinion of him who had spoken them. There was hope for the captain; and Somers trusted that he would be able fully to exonerate himself from the foul charge, when the occasion should permit such an exposition.
“My loyalty ought to be considered above suspicion, and those who know me best do so regard it,” added De Banyan as he administered another mild punch on the ribs of his fellow-sufferer. “I was taken by the Yankees, in short; and, at the first convenient opportunity, I have come over to see you again.”
“I hope it is all right, Barney; but I am afraid it is not.”
“I shall be able to clear myself of every imputation of disloyalty, before the proper tribunal.”
“How did you get over?”
“I have been following the fortunes of the Yankee army till last night; when I took a boat, and came over the river. On the way I met a pilot whose name was Andy, who turned me over to this man, who is also a pilot, and came down to take out a fire-ship.”
“The one that was burned in the creek last night?”
“The same. I refer you to Captain Osborn for the truth of the last part of my statement; though the time was when you did not ask me to bring vouchers for what I said.”
“For nothing, except your stories of the Crimea and the Italian war,” replied the captain of cavalry with a significant smile. “I must do you the justice to say, that I never knew you to tell a falsehood on any matter connected with your social or business relations.”
“Thank you for so much,” replied De Banyan. “Now that I have made it all right, I suppose you needn’t trouble yourself to attend to my affairs any further.”
“No trouble at all, I assure you. Under the circumstances, I shall feel it my duty to deliver you into the hands of my superiors, and they can do as they please with you. But I sincerely hope that you will be able to vindicate your character from the stain which rests upon it.”
“I don’t think it needs any vindication.”
“There is some difference of opinion between us on that point. Where are you going now?”
“To Richmond,” replied De Banyan promptly; and perhaps he intended to go there with the Army of the Potomac, though its present prospects of reaching the rebel capital were not very favorable.
“This is not the way to Richmond. Your stories don’t agree very well.”
“I thought it was; or rather to Petersburg, and from there we expected to get a ride up in the cars.”
“Oh, very well! I can procure you a pass to Richmond,” added the rebel.
“And an escort to attend us, I suppose,” replied De Banyan with a smile.
“A small one; but here is the house where Captain Osborn lodges. If he knows your friend here, and can vouch for his loyalty, all well; if not, we shall not part two such loving friends.”
Captain Osborn had not risen when the company of cavalry reached his quarters; but he was called from his bed, and appeared in front of the house in the worst possible humor; for, being human, he did not like to have his slumbers disturbed by unseasonable calls. As Somers feared Captain Osborn denied all knowledge of the prisoners, except so far as related to his interview with them during the night. He had never seen either of them before; and he even took the trouble to add that he didn’t believe the young fellow was a pilot, which was gratuitous and uncalled for on his part.
“Well, Marvel,” added the cavalry officer rather coldly, “this business is settled very much as I supposed it would be. I shall have to send you up to Richmond, where, if your stories are all true, I doubt not you will be able to clear yourself.”
“Thank you, captain. You are the same affectionate fellow you used to be when you were a lieutenant in the Third Tennessee,” replied De Banyan with a sneer; for it was evident that he was not at all pleased with the result of the affair.
Four soldiers were detailed from the company to conduct the prisoners to a certain camp near the railroad at City Point, and there deliver them over to the keeping of an officer whose name was mentioned.
“Good-morning, captain,” said De Banyan with forced gayety.
“Good-morning, Marvel, and success to you.”
“Thank you.”
“By the way, Barney, if there is anything I can do for you, don’t fail to call upon me; that is, anything consistent with the duty of a faithful officer.”
“Such a remark was entirely uncalled for,” said De Banyan with dignity. “Do you think I would ask an officer to sacrifice his conscience?”
“Excuse me, Barney. I meant no offense,” added the rebel captain, touched by the proud and dignified manner of his former friend.
“Your words and your conduct are in keeping with each other.”
“Really, Barney, I meant nothing by the remark.”
“Then it was the more unmanly to make it.”
“I am still your friend. In proof of it, permit me to do you a favor,” pleaded the rebel, much concerned at the wound he had inflicted on the sensitive nature of his late associate in the Third Tennessee.
“I ask no favors,” answered De Banyan proudly.
“You are too hard upon me. Upon my word, I meant no offense. As a proof of my friendship, I will take your parole of honor not to escape, and you shall report at Richmond at your own pleasure. If you have any interest in this young man, I will allow him the same favor.”
“After what has happened, I cannot accept a favor at your hands. I can’t see how an officer who doubts my word should be willing to take my parole.”
“As you please, Marvel,” added the captain petulantly. “I can do no more for you.”
Somers was greatly relieved when the rebel officer rode off, followed by his company. He had trembled with anxiety, when the parole was offered to De Banyan, lest he should accept it, and thus compel him to do the same. Although he could not see how it was to be brought about, he intended to escape from the hands of his captors at the first convenient opportunity, with or without De Banyan, as the case should demand.
One of the four troopers detailed to guard the prisoners was a sergeant, who intimated to them that they might take up the line of march for the camp where they were bound. To preclude the possibility of an escape, he ordered two of his men to ride ahead of the captives, while himself and the other followed in the rear. The little procession moved off; and there was never a sadder-hearted young man than Somers, who, were his true character discovered, was liable to the pains and penalties of being a spy.
“Sergeant, have you been to breakfast?” demanded De Banyan, after they had walked a couple of miles, and were passing a farm-house.
“No, sir.”
“I smell fried bacon, and am willing to pay for breakfast for the whole party. What do you say?”
“There is nothing in my orders to prevent me from taking up your offer; and I will do it, if you will agree not to run away while we are at the house,” replied the prudent soldier.
“How shall we run away, with four men watching us?” demanded De Banyan.
The sergeant seemed to be satisfied with this argument; and they entered the house, where breakfast was soon in preparation for them.