"And you'll not forget to look out for Jack and Aleck?" said Marcy. "You know Aleck is the man who saved me from choking. And I can have my flag back, I suppose?"
"I'll have Webster sworn in this very night, and when I see the captain of the Lane I will tell him what I know about Jack Gray, and will say that his brother did me good service while the fleet was in Croatan and Albemarle sounds. The quartermaster will return your flag at once."
Marcy went into the state room that he had used as his own since he had been on board the ship, and when he came out he brought his valise, in which he had stowed the package the captain had intrusted to his care. The flag with which his Harrington girl presented him, and which had waved triumphant during three hard battles and several sharp skirmishes, was promptly handed out by the quartermaster on watch, and then Marcy followed the captain to the waist, to pick out the skiff that was to take him to his home. As his wounded arm was not yet in a serviceable condition, he selected a boat with a square stern, that could be sculled with one oar. After it had been put into the water, and the countersign, "Roanoke," had been whispered in his ear, Marcy shook hands all around, not forgetting Aleck Webster and the other Union men among the rest, and pushed off into the darkness. The current was strong, and Marcy hugged the bank to keep out of it as much as he could, and by so doing brought himself to the notice of half a dozen sentries who compelled him to come ashore with the countersign. Of course this was a bother, and the progress he made with his one-handed sculling was slow and laborious; but it was safer than following a lonely road and running the risk of falling in with some of those rebel soldiers whom General Burnside had sent to their homes. Marcy told himself that that was about the worst thing that could have happened to him. He was afraid that these paroled prisoners would be pliant tools in the hands of Captain Beardsley, and they were so numerous that the thirteen Union men, who were all there were left of the band that had rescued him and his mother from the power of the robbers, could not hold their own against them.
"Things will be worse now than they ever were before," thought Marcy, as he sculled his boat out of the river into Seven Mile Creek, and sat down to take a much-needed rest and eat a portion of the lunch that Captain Benton's steward had put up for him. "Beardsley will be more vindictive than ever, because I did not say a word for him when Captain Benton put him in irons, and if the truth will not answer his purpose, he'll not scruple to lie about me. He'll try his best to force me into the army so that he can have a clear field for his operations, but I'll tell you what's a fact, I'll not go," said Marcy hotly. "Jack declared that he would take to the swamp before he would fight for the Confederacy, and why shouldn't I do the same? I will. I'll become a refugee rather than shoot at the flag my brother is sailing under. Refugee: one who flees for refuge or safety. That's me, as Dick Graham used to say. I'll seek safety among the Union men who spend the most of their time in the woods. It's my opinion that from now on they will have to spend all their time there, for I don't believe that the prisoners Burnside released will leave any houses for them to go into. Mother's will have to go with the rest."
Marcy had often made the trip from his mother's house to Plymouth and back in a rowboat, and if he thought it hard when he had two hands to use, it was doubly tedious and discouraging now that he had only one, and nothing but the most gloomy thoughts for company. He had almost made up his mind that he would camp on the bank for the rest of the night and walk home in the morning, when he was startled by hearing a low, familiar whistle, something like the chirp of a cricket, a short distance away. He listened until the sound was repeated, and then called out, in a husky voice:
"Julius!"
"Hi ya!" came the answer through the darkness; and Marcy thought he had never heard anything half so melodious as the black boy's laugh. "I done tol' dat fool niggah he didn't know nuffin, but he won't listen to Julius. Eberybody take Julius for a plum dunce; but I done fine you, Marse Mahcy, an' dere's dat Morris——"
"Where are you?" interrupted the boy. "Come here and tell me what you mean, and what brought you here so far from home."
"Nuffin didn't brung me hyar; I jes done come," replied Julius; and a slight splashing in the water indicated that he was in a boat, and that he was pushing off from the bank in the direction from which Marcy's voice sounded. "Dat fool Morris, he take de mu-el an' de filly an' done gone to Nashville lookin' for you; but I know you aint gwine come home dat a way fru all dem rebel soldiers, an' so I come hyar."
"And very glad I am to see you," answered Marcy, laying hold of the side of the dugout that just then bumped against his skiff. "You came here to meet me while Morris went to Nashville with my horse. How did you know I was coming home to-night?"