CHAPTER XII.
IN PRISON.
As soon as the chamber-maid’s footsteps had died away, Mildred locked the door, and sat down to think. Suffering herself to be drawn into an interview with a stranger was her second blunder, as she now perceived. Why had the clerk manifested such a sudden interest in her affairs? Did he not suspect her? What made her so foolish as to engage in a conversation with him? She could not but feel a little uneasy and anxious, and she determined to transact her business as quickly as possible, and leave the city. As soon as she would rid herself of Gen. A.’s message she would be out of danger. She must find Beall at once.
She then rose from her seat, and looked around the room, and even under the bed. She cast her eyes up to the ceiling, and as she did so imagined that she heard a sudden, but slight movement overhead. A small bit of plaster dropped to the floor. She at once made the discovery that about two feet square of the plaster had fallen off, or at least was gone. This fact, under ordinary circumstances, would have made no impression upon her mind, but now it awakened her suspicions, and she narrowly examined the unsightly blemish. Why should it not have been repaired? But it may have been recently done. To discover whether this might be so, she examined the carpet immediately under it, but she saw only a few grains of sand, and the little lump that had just fallen. Perhaps Sir Isaac, in the same length of time, did not study more profoundly in regard to the descent of that famous apple which revolutionized philosophy, than Mildred did about that insignificant bit of rubbish. Was its fall, too, due simply to the law of gravitation, or was it caused by some eavesdropper? After reflecting for some moments, a new thought seemed suddenly to flash into her mind, for she partially disrobed herself, as if to rest, and lay upon the bed, pretending to fall into a deep sleep. She was, in fact, wide awake, listening with all her ears. An hour passed away, and she arose. Taking a pair of small scissors from her pocket, she cut a small aperture in the lining of her dress so that she could secure easy access to the General’s manuscript pocket-handkerchief. This done, she drew her chair to the window where she could look down upon the busy street. She gazed at the crowds rushing along in pursuit of the varied objects that occupy the attention of the inhabitants of a gay city, like the capital of the United States. She beheld officers of every grade walking among the throng with proud, military step, who appeared to glory more in their magnificent physique and splendid, spotless uniform, than in the deeds of valor they had performed on the field of battle. In this gay, beautiful city, she felt a keen sense of loneliness. There was, so far as she knew, only one person in all the place, whose sympathies were like her own, and she had no intimate acquaintance with him. This person was Capt. Beall. She now determined to find him at once, deliver the General’s document, and immediately start homeward. Accordingly, she rose from her chair, donned her cephalic attire, and opened the door. She started back in amazement and horror! There stood before her a policeman, a woman, and the head-clerk with whom she had conversed not more than two hours since. What awful thoughts now came crowding into her mind! It is impossible to describe them. Persons who have been in similar situations remember how active is the mind in the first moment of surprise. The sense of danger, the line of defence, the means of escape, all are discussed in a few seconds. Thoughts such as these, and a hundred others of a different character, flashed in the most rapid succession through Mildred’s mind. Among other things Gen. A.’s cautions came vividly to her memory. He had told her how necessary is self-possession, and she was now making the most desperate efforts to be calm. The trio stood watching her face, as she gazed steadily at them. As they said nothing, she presently, in a quiet tone broke the silence.
“I am patiently waiting to learn the object of this intrusion,” she said with dignity.
“We are not guilty of intrusion,” replied the clerk, “we are merely standing before the door.”
“If that is all,” said Mildred calmly, “please let me pass, and you can enjoy your harmless pleasure to your heart’s content.”
“Not so fast, sarcastic lady,” spoke the clerk. “You must give a better account of yourself than you did a while ago. I suspected your disloyalty to the Federal Government sufficiently to induce me to make an effort to ascertain if my suspicions were correct.”
“What effort do you propose to make?”
“Would you object to being searched?”
“For what?” asked Mildred with inward trepidation, as she perceived treachery gradually unfolding. For one moment the most bitter hatred toward that deceptive clerk sprang up in her heart, and she felt that she could have taken his life. But it was only for a moment.
“We wish to see if you have anything contraband,” replied the clerk.
“I suppose you intend to search me anyhow, whether I consent or not?”
“We don’t like to resort to force,” answered the clerk, “and we hope you’ll readily give your consent. Indeed, a willingness on your part to submit will be taken as evidence of your loyalty to the government.”
“I do not see it in that light,” said Mildred as quietly as possible. “What have I done to arouse your suspicions?”
“That does not matter, lady,” replied the clerk. “I have no feeling of malice toward you. I sincerely hope that I am mistaken, and that you may prove as innocent of any sinister intentions towards the government as the angels of heaven. I was prepossessed in your favor by your general appearance and your conversation. But if you have come to the city with any dark purpose, it is but natural that you should oppose being searched.”
“Can you not see,” asked Mildred, speaking slowly, “that it is a personal indignity to be subjected to a search?”
“Not in such times as these,” said the clerk. “It is generally the case, that, when innocent people are suspected, they demand an investigation, instead of shrinking from it.”
“That depends upon circumstances,” replied Mildred coolly. She was endeavoring to prolong the conversation as much as possible in order to think what was best to be done. If she could avoid this search, she would be safe. A score of schemes rapidly presented themselves during these few moments. She thought of bribery; but that would be an acknowledgment of guilt. If there had been a fire in the room, she would have hastily thrown the dangerous kerchief into it; in that case all that the authorities could do would be to imprison her for a while as a suspicious character. But there was no fire, and she did not have even a match. If Mildred had only known it, all her scheming was to no purpose, for she had been watched. That wiry, pert little woman, one of the trio had been in the room over-head, which had been prepared for suspicious characters. When Mildred had suddenly looked up to the ceiling, in her examination of the room, the woman involuntarily drew back, and in so doing had caused the lump of loose plaster to fall. She saw Mildred make the rent in the dress, and that was enough. Mildred at last came to the conclusion that it would be advisable to submit with the best grace possible, and trust to Providence for protection. Sending up a silent, but earnest prayer, she said:
“I suppose you have brought this lady to do the work? If so, it is useless to discuss the matter. So proceed.”
“That is right,” said the clerk. “You can both go into the room, and close the door. This officer and myself will await the result in the hall, here.”
Accordingly the little woman, with eyes, as Mildred thought, keen enough to see through a mill-stone, entered the apartment, and closed the door.
“Well, what do you wish?” asked Mildred.
“Let me have your dress first, please.”
“You wish me to take it off?”
“Yes, take it off.”
“What do you expect to find?” asked Mildred. “You can feel the dress anywhere, and you will discover no papers.”
“Take it off,” said the woman sharply. “I don’t know what I will find. I’ll show you when I am through searching.”
Mildred deliberately removed the garment, and while so doing, made two or three unsuccessful attempts to withdraw the treacherous kerchief unobserved; but the diminutive woman was watching with an Argus-eyed vigilance that would have instantly detected any suspicious manipulation. The little lady took it, turned it inside out, and stretched it upon the bed. In an instant her keen eyes fell upon the fatal rent. Mildred felt a choking sensation when she perceived the nimble fingers deftly close upon the General’s handkerchief.
“O, heaven! what shall I do?” was her inward exclamation as she saw the kerchief quickly jerked out. She felt a sickening sensation creeping over her. She tried hard to preserve her equanimity. Would falsehood avail in this instance? or should she tell the truth, and meet death with Christian resignation?
“Ah! what is this?” exclaimed the little woman, holding up the kerchief by two corners, and gazing at it with a most provoking air of triumph.
Mildred’s first impulse was to snatch the terrible document from her hands, and thrust it in the fire, but alas! there was no fire in the room.
“It may be some old rag,” said Mildred in a hoarse, trembling voice, “put in to thicken the lining.” It was the first time in her life that she had practiced prevarication, and the words seemed to blister her tongue.
“Hardly probable,” said the Lilliputian lady with an ironical smile. “Hardly probable; it is almost new, don’t you see? But I will give it to Mr. Twombly, and let him examine it while I continue the work.”
Accordingly, she opened the door, gave the kerchief to the clerk, and resumed the search. But a half hour’s further investigation revealed nothing else of a suspicious character. The woman said:
“Well, unless that handkerchief contains evidences of disloyalty you will go free. Put on your clothing. I will assist you.”
In a little time Mildred was again presentable, and the door being re-opened, the two men entered without ceremony. The little woman was the first to speak.
“That’s the only suspicious article I’ve been able to discover.”
“And that is enough,” said the clerk. “Alas! young lady, we are forced to arrest you as a spy. I am sorry for you.”
“I do not need your sympathy,” said Mildred indignantly. “I would rather be anything than a detestable informer, showing a ‘Devil’s purpose with an angel’s face’—sneaking among your unsuspecting guests, smiling and fawning upon them in order to convert their blood into gold. ‘I’d rather be a dog and bay the moon than such a Roman.’ Yes, I’d rather die a thousand times than act the base part of a contemptible hypocrite.”
“High! wrathful lady,” exclaimed the clerk without betraying any symptoms of vexation and annoyance, “how can you blame me for discharging my duty to my country?”
“Don’t you remember that King Philip said he loved the treason, but despised the traitor? That is the case with your masters; they love your treachery, but they hate you. Every honest man heartily execrates a cold-blooded, villainous informer,” cried the enraged Mildred.
“Nevertheless, young lady,” coolly said the clerk, “it is our duty to arrest you as a spy.”
“I am no spy,” exclaimed Mildred. “I have not come to Washington to find out anything of a military character. I call God to witness that I have not come here for any such purpose.”
“Why, don’t you know the contents of this document?” asked the clerk.
“God in heaven, who sees me, knows that I never read a single word, or syllable of it.”
“Then,” said the clerk in surprise, “you know not what a dangerous handkerchief you have been carrying.”
“Yes, sir; I knew it was attended with some sort of danger, but I do emphatically deny being a spy. All I had to do was to deliver the handkerchief to a certain person, and go back home.”
“And that person is named here,” replied the clerk. “I wouldn’t given a snap of my finger for his life.”
Mildred turned pale on hearing this, and on re-calling the fact that General A. had told her that if she were detected, a third party would be compromised.
“Notwithstanding your unnecessary abuse of myself,” said the clerk, “I hope your excuse will be considered sufficient to procure your release. Your friends have made a mere tool of you for the accomplishment of their own purpose. But I must take you to head-quarters. If you will promise to go along quietly, I will accompany you myself; if you are not, I will turn you over to the police.”
“I will go with you,” said Mildred, who was now ready almost to faint.
The clerk and Mildred descended to the street, and entered a passing hack. In a few moments they alighted at the head-quarters of Gen. ——, to whom the clerk delivered the handkerchief. He read it over twice and said:
“A pretty kettle of fish is this! Are you the bearer of this, young lady?”
“I am, sir.”
“She had it carefully concealed in her clothing, General,” spoke up the clerk. “I suspected her, and had her watched.”
“You have done your country a great service,” replied the General. “Have you arrested the other party?”
“No, sir, I thought it best to deliver that article to you first.”
“Very well,” answered the General. “I thank you heartily for what you have done. Now, young lady,” continued the General, turning his attention to Mildred who was pale but calm, “how came you with this document?”
Mildred had concocted a falsehood which might have obscured her connection with the affair with a shadow of dubitation. But in early life the little story of George Washington and the cherry tree had made a deep, ineffaceable impression upon her mind, and neither could she “tell a lie.” If she spoke at all, she determined to tell the truth, let the consequences be what they might. So she answered:
“I brought it to a certain person in this city.”
“What is his name?”
“I cannot tell,” she replied. “You can do as you please with me, but I shall not compromise others.”
“It does not matter,” replied the General. “His name is Beall. I shall have him arrested in an hour or so. He is an important character, it seems. Do you not know, lady, that you are acting the spy?”
“No, sir. I deny being a spy.”
“I pity your ignorance,” replied the officer. “You are exactly in the attitude of a spy. The penalty—do you know what it is?”
“Death, is it not?” replied Mildred calmly.
“Death, and death by hanging.”
“O, General!” exclaimed Mildred, whose feelings were alternating between trepidation and tranquility. “Can you not pardon me when I was ignorant that I was acting in such a capacity?”
“I never knew a spy to be pardoned,” said the General thoughtfully. “There was universal sympathy for the unfortunate Major Andre, and Washington would have saved him, if possible. But the law is inexorable. I have no power to do anything. You will have to be tried by a military court, and you can easily imagine what will be the result. A spy always takes his life in his hands, well knowing the consequences of detection. If you are ignorant of these consequences, I am truly sorry for you. You will,” he continued, turning to the clerk, “give the lady a room in your hotel, and I will send a guard to stand at the door to prevent escape. I do not care to send so elegant a lady to a common prison. Give her a room from which there is no practicable egress except through the door.”
“I understand, General,” replied the clerk. “The corner room of the fourth story is perfectly safe.”
“General,” said Mildred who had been trying to be brave, “may I write to my parents?”
If the officer had spoken harshly, she could have borne her misfortune more courageously, but he spoke kindly, and the womanish heart would betray itself. Under such circumstances, without tears, she would have been untrue to her sex. The General was touched, as nearly all men are, by the sight of a beautiful woman down whose cheeks are flowing the evidences of her distress. When the grim old General looked at the innocent truth-telling face of this magnanimous girl, upon whose features God had stamped the seal of honesty, and especially when she broke down at the thought of the distress of her parents, and Ernest, all the better feelings of his heart were touched. His chivalry prompted him to release her, but the claims of duty were paramount. He, at the time, thought that surely no court-martial would deal with her as with one of the “rougher sex.” Her innocence, beauty, and intelligence would be her defense, and, under all circumstances, would be a greater protection than a Roman shield. He, therefore, replied:
“Certainly, you may. This gentleman,” turning to the clerk, “will see that you have everything that you want. Remember, sir, she is a lady, and treat her accordingly.”
“She herself will testify, General, that I have extended to her the treatment which every lady deserves, notwithstanding the fact, that she abused me roundly for simply discharging my duty.”
When they again entered the hack, such a sense of the awfulness of her situation came over Mildred that she covered her face, and sobbed audibly. Her woman nature strongly asserted itself, and she yielded. For the first time a sense of shame reddened the cheeks of the clerk, sitting silent in front of her.
“Confound it,” said he to himself, “what great deed have I done? She is nothing but an innocent girl, ignorant of her own danger. If it were some sharp man, I might feel self-complacent. The man to whom she was to deliver that handkerchief is really the guilty party. But it is too late now. I must obey orders.”
They soon reached the hotel, and in ten minutes Mildred found herself in the corner room of the fourth story. And she sat down, and wept bitterly.
