“That was hard luck indeed,” answered Marcy. “You earned your freedom and ought to have had it. Why, you must have travelled four or five hundred miles. What excuse did the rebels make for arresting you?”
“Don’t use that word here,” said the man hastily. “It’s dangerous. We have the best of reasons for believing that there are spies among us searching for deserters, and they will go straight to the guards with every word you say. The man who asked if you are Union or secesh is one of them.”
“Why are they so anxious to find deserters?” asked Marcy.
“To make an example of them, I suppose. At any rate the guards took a deserter out of this room on the day I came, and we’ve never seen him since. The men who captured me did not make any excuse for holding me, if that was the question you were going to ask. They simply said that I couldn’t be of any use to the Yanks in Plymouth, but could be of a good deal of use in the Confederate army, and so they brought me along. Who are you? and what’s your name?”
Marcy had not talked with the man very long before he made up his mind that he had found the friend he needed; but still he was afraid to trust him too far on short acquaintance. He told Bowen that he was neither a deserter nor a conscript, but a refugee, and owed his capture to personal enemies, who would be sure to suffer for it sooner or later; but he did not say that he intended to escape if his captors gave him half a chance, or that he had some good money in his valise. Consequently he was not a little surprised and alarmed when Bowen turned his back to the rest of the prisoners, and said in an earnest whisper:
“Have you been searched?”
“No,” answered Marcy. “What will I have to be searched for? My mother presented my valise for Captain Fletcher’s inspection, but he was gentleman enough to say he wouldn’t look into it.”
“Well, you’ll be searched, and that too just as soon as old Wilkins learns something of the circumstances under which you were captured,” continued Bowen in the same earnest whisper. “It don’t stand to reason that your mother would have packed your carpetbag without slipping in a little money, if she had any, and Wilkins is hot after money.”
“Who is Wilkins, anyhow?”
“The Confederate captain who commands here, and he’s a robber. He goes through every man who comes into the jail, and you will not escape. Why, he was mean enough to take three dollars in scrip from me. He said I would have no use for money, for the government would furnish me with grub and clothes. If you’ve got anything you want to save you’d better let me have it.”