‘No—yes,’ replied Lucius hurriedly. ‘I mean I am not a deserter, but I bring important news,’
‘If you are not a deserter, what do you mean by wearing that uniform? Explain yourself,’
‘Captain,’ answered Lucius earnestly, ‘believe me, I am telling the truth. I found this uniform, and put it on to disguise myself. I have a despatch from General Shields to General Frémont, and I will give it to the General, if you will take me to him.’
‘Give it to me,’ urged the captain, holding out his hand. Lucius hesitated. If he gave up the despatch and then asked leave to return, the captain would become suspicious of a trick, and perhaps detain him there till the rounds passed by, and so valuable time would be lost. He felt that his only resource lay in an appeal to some one in authority who would grant him the required permission, and the memory of Jackson’s face at Staunton on that last Sunday suggested that the appeal should be made to him, and him alone. ‘He will understand me,’ thought Lucius; ‘these other fellows will not.’ Aloud he said: ‘Captain, I’ve gone through a good deal—in fact, I’ve risked my life—to bring that despatch here, and I beseech you to let me give it to the General with my own hands. More depends upon it than you think.’
The captain considered. The earnest pleading moved him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked at length.
‘I belong to Staunton,’ answered Lucius. ‘My fa——I have a relative in this army.’
‘Who may that be?’ inquired the captain, for it was no uncommon thing for different members of a family to be fighting on opposite sides of the line.
‘I’d rather not say,’ answered Lucius. ‘Oh, captain, let me go. I am sure that the General will tell you you have done right if you do.’
‘Corporal,’ said the captain, after another moment’s reflection, ‘take this fellow to headquarters. Report the affair to the adjutant, and hear what he has to say.’
