Marcy, the Refugee

by Harry Castlemon

"That is what I think," said Marcy, "and I wish that plan might be put into operation this very day. What is the use of putting it off? I'll help."

While this conversation was going on the other refugees had begun to show signs of returning life and energy, and as fast as they arose from their blankets they came up to greet Marcy, who was not much surprised to find that he could call every one of them by name. Those who had rendered him such good service on the night those Newbern robbers raided his mother's house made themselves known, and of course received the hearty thanks of the boy they had saved from being hung up by the neck. One of them remarked that he wished he and his friends had served Hanson as they had served the robbers, and this led Marcy to believe that they had made short work with them; but he asked no questions.

For men in their circumstances the refugees were the most jovial lot Marcy Gray had ever seen. Having learned the art of foraging to perfection they lived on the best the country afforded; they were so well armed that it would not pay the authorities to try to capture them, even if they had known right where to find them; and the secessionists in the settlement who had property to lose would not permit the Confederate soldiers to molest their wives and children if they could possibly help it. But, as Hawkins said, they were becoming tired of living in this way, and were talking seriously of taking matters into their own hands. If the Federal garrison at Plymouth could not protect them, they would protect themselves. That was what Marcy Gray had made up his mind to do, and it was his intention to begin operations that very day. As soon as breakfast was over he drew Hawkins off on one side and took him into his confidence by unfolding the plans he had in his head. One was to make a prisoner of his mother's overseer and take him to Plymouth; and while there, to give the Federal commander the names of the men who belonged to the Home Guards and tell him what they were organized for. And lastly he would write letters to Beardsley and Shelby, telling them that if they did not move away at once and go among the Confederates, where they ought to have gone long ago, the men whom they had forced to find refuge in the swamp would destroy everything they had.

"I'm with you heart and soul, all except going among the Yankees," said
Hawkins, after Marcy had made him understand what he had on his mind.
"I'm sorter jubus that they won't let me come away when I want to. Why
couldn't we bushwhack Hanson, and not go nigh Plymouth at all?"

"Shoot him behind his back?" cried Marcy. "Look here, Hawkins, I hope you are not that sort. I never could look my mother in the face if I should consent to that. Haven't you something to show that you are a paroled prisoner?"

"Not the first thing. One of my officers signed for me."

"All right. Then you stand by me till we capture and tie Hanson, and I will take him down the river myself. I have something in my pocket that will bring me home all right. And while I am gone you will deliver a couple of letters for me, will you not?"

Oh, yes; Hawkins was perfectly willing to do that, and when he delivered the warning letters he would add a few words of his own that would perhaps emphasize what Marcy wrote. Being satisfied with his promise the boy hastened to hunt up the portfolio he had been thoughtful enough to bring with him, and while he wrote the letters which he hoped would forever relieve the community of the meanest men in it, his Confederate friend busied himself in telling all the rest of the refugees what he was writing about. Marcy's energy was contagious; and by the time he and Hawkins and Julius were ready to start on their mission, half the men in camp were writing similar notes, to be delivered to certain obnoxious persons by other paroled prisoners. Every one of them would have been glad to "see Marcy through," as they expressed it, if he would agree that Hanson should be bushwhacked instead of being turned over to the Yankees. Although they were strong Union men, they might not be able to prove it to the satisfaction of the Federals, and for that reason they did not care to put themselves in their power.

"And I don't blame you for it," said Marcy. "I wouldn't dare go among them myself if I wasn't sure they would let me come home again. I don't need any help, except such as Hawkins is willing to give me. If I once get Hanson afloat, I shall take him to Plymouth, unless he throws himself into the river; and I know he isn't the man to do that."

Everything being ready for the start, Marcy and his two companions crossed to the main land in one of the canoes which they concealed among the bushes when they reached the bank, and set out for Mrs. Gray's house, holding such a course that they would pass one of Beardsley's fields on the way. They expected to find him at work there with his negroes, and they were not disappointed. When they discovered him, Marcy drew his letters from his pocket and handed one of them to Hawkins, who, after telling him where he would find him again at the end of half an hour, climbed the fence and set out across the field. Marcy waited until he came up with Beardsley and handed him the letter, and then resumed his walk, arriving at the place of meeting just about the time that Hawkins got there. The latter was laughing all over.