CHAPTER V
CAUGHT IN THE TRAP
IT had come; the urgent necessity for instant action, for immediate decision, was upon me, and—I failed. I saw the Chaplain rise deliberately to his feet, and I struggled up also, fiercely gripping the back of my chair, half tempted to use it as a weapon with which to sweep the steps before me clear. Yet I hesitated, swayed by doubt, influenced by many emotions. What was right? What was best? What ought I to do?
I was unable to decide in that instant given me for decision. I realized this much-I must get away, not only in personal safety, but likewise without creating alarm, or leaving behind me any knowledge of the special message I hoped to carry with me across the river. To that end I could gladly sacrifice myself, all of my future if need should be, but had I any right to sacrifice her also? Would even the license of war exonerate me? The opportunity for an easy escape lay clear before me; merely a few brief words spoken in the darkness, the silent acting of a simple part, the riding away together, the others departing unsuspectingly to their several commands, the leaving of the uninjured girl within easy reach of Fairview which could not be far distant, then the spur, the river, and Rosecrans.
This programme appeared so easy, so tempting. It seemed as though everything had been shaped to this end, as if it were the will of Providence. Some one drew back the chairs, and a slender figure stood silently by my left side. I could not distinguish a feature of her averted face, but a vagrant breath of air blew a strand of soft hair against my cheek. Could I sacrifice her, even for such a cause? Suddenly, as if it were the whisper of the devil in my ear, came the controlling thought—she despises the man Dunn; she is being driven into this marriage against her will; possibly this very fraud on my part will best serve her, will eventually result in her final happiness. We would be together merely for an hour, or two hours; then she would be left safe in the care of friends, comprehending the deceit, angry with me, no doubt, yet nothing the worse for the adventure. It might even be that the marriage contracted under such peculiar circumstances would not be held as legal, while if it was, a divorce could be most easily obtained, on the ground of fraud, and it would remain in her memory afterwards merely as an unpleasant episode. What it might prove to me, I neither considered nor cared.
"You will join right hands."
How soft and small her hand was, how cold to the touch, and how it trembled beneath the clasp of my fingers! I can scarcely recall a word spoken; they came to me in the vaguest mumble of sound, conveying not the slightest meaning. I could see the broad shoulders of the Chaplain as he stood directly in front of us, his back to the steps; behind him appeared the dim outlines of the Colonel and Master George; I did not really perceive the girl at all, merely felt her cold hand lying unresponsive within mine. Once the drawling voice appeared to ask me something, repeating the question somewhat sharply before I could force my dry lips into the few necessary words of response. Then I heard her distinctly say, "I do," yet with an effort, as though the utterance nearly choked her. The very sound of these two words, as she thus spoke them filled with utter hopelessness, shocked me even then, and I loosened my clasp, permitting her hand to drop, as I stared toward her. The hot blood rushed to my head, every nerve tingling. Damned if I would be guilty of this cowardly thing! I would fight them all first!
"And now I pronounce you husband and wife; whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
It was already too late! Too late! The evil was done, the act consummated. In darkness, in masquerade, pretending to be another, I stood there and married Jean Denslow. I was actually guilty of this low, despicable fraud on a woman; I had connived at this ungentlemanly act; I had permitted myself to sink to this unspeakable meanness. I do not comprehend now how I ever held my peace; how I met the outstretched hands of congratulation, what inane words I mumbled in reply. I was conscious merely of regret, humiliation, intense shame. She never came near me, never once spoke, but I heard her sob chokingly as she hid her face on her father's shoulder. Slowly the life came creeping back to me, and with it the realization of our position, a dim comprehension that the cowardly game must now be played out to the end. However inexcusable the fraud, it must now be turned to good account; results must in some measure justify the deceit. I gripped my hands on the chair-back, compelling myself to attend to what was going on about me. George had disappeared but I could hear the sound of horses being led forward over the grass below.
"Well, good-bye, little girl." It was the Colonel's voice. "The ride is n't a long one, and you can scarcely understand how greatly it will relieve me to know that you are safe in the care of friends."
"I say, Calvert, there does n't seem to be anything the matter with your horse," suddenly sang out the boy from below. "He'll carry you all right. What's keeping you and Jean? Don't you know we've got to get out of here?"
"Yes, come, Calvert," and the unsuspecting old Colonel grasped my arm. "Jean is waiting, and we must all of us be off."
It was accomplished mechanically, yet I remember assisting the girl into the saddle, slipping her little foot into the stirrup, my heart beating fast as I touched the arched instep, and felt her slight weight rest for an instant on my shoulder. All at once I apprehended the sweet charm of her young womanhood, coupled with an odd feeling of personal interest. My God! it was a strange situation! I had never even spoken to her; she had never once spoken to me—yet she was my wife. Some way the thought thrilled me as if I had received an electric shock. Jean Denslow was already actually mine; I could claim her by law; she bore my name—why, she did n't even know what my name was! The sense of humiliation seemed to leave me at the thought, and I even smiled at the humor of it as I swung up into my own saddle. Humor? oh, yes! But it would certainly prove no matter tor laughter when she once discovered the truth.
I recall the warm hand-clasps, the cheery words of good-bye, the hearty congratulations, to which we both remained strangely dumb, the several figures standing clustered at our horses' heads; then we rode forth alone, and, knowing nothing as to the direction in which Fairview lay, I permitted the lady's horse to take the lead slightly To my immense relief she drew rein sharply to the right, and we headed eastward. Unacquainted with the nature of the road we travelled, I hesitated to speed the horses anxious though I was to be well advanced before daylight, but she as instantly decided the matter by touching her mount with a light riding-whip, the gray mare under her breaking into a smart canter. Immediately I ranged up at her side, my heavier roan easily keeping the pace, as I permitted him to pick his own way. It was like riding blindfolded, so black was all ahead, with what appeared to be thick forest on either side; yet the road was evidently a well-travelled one, and our horses very seldom made a misstep. Once her high-spirited mare shied violently, so that I reached out, and hastily grasped her rein, but, so far as I could perceive, the slender figure scarcely swayed in the saddle, and her lips uttered no sound. At a steady stride we rode onward through the gloom in silence, an embarrassing constraint upon us both I could realize plainly enough those emotions which were swaying her, but she little comprehended the thoughts of the man at her side. Again and again I glanced toward her, my lips opening for speech, yet unable to utter the first syllable. I had in my heart the fear of a coward; I dreaded to confess the truth, and face her just indignation. Yet I was inevitably driven to it; there was nothing else for me to do, unless I should suddenly rein back my horse, ride swiftly away in the darkness, leaving her alone and undefended. That would be the act of a cur; it would insure me her hatred forever, and, deep down in my heart, I was already beginning to desire the future goodwill of this girl. I wanted her to respect my motives, to understand what it was which had driven me into such an act of deceit. Not even justified in my own mind, I yet dreamed I might possibly justify myself in some small degree before her. Once, as if the constrained silence had become unbearable, she ventured a common-place remark upon the black stillness of the night, to which I must have replied stiffly enough, for both immediately relapsed into silence; the only sound was made by our horses' hoofs, now pounding along a road grown hard and rocky as we steadily rose into higher altitudes. In the narrow bed of a stream we drew rein to permit the animals to drink thirstily. Feeling that I must now know something more definite as to this country we traversed, I began doubtfully to probe after the information.
"I rather expected to encounter pickets along the road," I began, staring about into the night. "Have they been withdrawn?"
I imagined she glanced toward me as if in surprise at my words, or rendered suspicious by the sound of my voice.
"All pickets in this direction were recalled last night, when General Huston returned to his brigade," she replied indifferently.
"Then we are already between the lines?"
"Neither army has ever been east, on this slope of the mountains, so far as I know. Two weeks ago Joe drove me over to Coulter's Landing after some supplies for the house, and the country at that time appeared to have been untouched even by foraging parties. I have heard of no movements in this direction since then."
"Haven't I heard there was a ford at Coulter's?"
"Just below the landing, yes; but it is narrow, and never safe when the water is at all high. Why, we crossed it together only last Summer on our way to Franklyn."
"To be sure; so we did. I have passed through so much since then that I have grown forgetful."
The horses lifted their heads, their wet nostrils dripping, and we rode up the opposite bank, noticing a star or two peeping shyly out from among the ragged clouds. The road uplifted somewhat sharply, but there were comparatively level reaches along which we galloped, riding closely side by side, so that I could feel the touch of her skirt against my leg. The faint gleam of the stars afforded me a slight glimpse of my companion sitting her horse easily, her hair blowing back beneath the rim of a coquettish hat, the soft oval of her face barely taking shape in the gloom. She was gazing directly ahead, apparently utterly unconscious of my near presence, every thought concentrated elsewhere. When was the end to come? Why was it I could not muster sufficient courage to speak, could not even determine what it was I desired to say? Surely I was not afraid of this helpless, slender girl. If I had done wrong it was for the cause of my country, and I had nothing now to fear except her anger. Why should I greatly care for that? Why should I shrink from revealment as a slave from the lash? Suddenly she brought the end upon herself, reining up her mare so sharply that, when I also came to a halt, we were facing each other, my horse rearing from the heavy pressure on his bit.
"What is it? Did you see something?"
"Nothing but that dead pine yonder," pointing toward the left. "We have ridden beyond the cut-off."
"Beyond—"
"Yes, a quarter of a mile beyond. What can be the matter with you to-night? Have you forgotten the way to your own home?"
There was a vague touch of suspicion in the voice, and she was leaning forward evidently striving in vain to distinguish my features in the darkness. An instant I hesitated, no satisfactory excuse coming to my lips. She touched her mare lightly with the whip, forcing her forward.
"Why does it take you so long to answer? You are not usually so dumb."
"I was surprised at having ridden beyond the turn; I—I must have been dreaming," I ventured, still striving to retard the inevitable exposure. But by now she had become convinced that something was wrong; had grown alarmed, indignant. I heard the sharp indrawing of her breath, and marked the uplifting of her hand as if to shade her eyes.
"You—you are not Calvert Dunn," she ejaculated swiftly. "Your voice is unlike his."
I stared at her, my lips dry, my tongue useless, even reeling myself tremble in the saddle.
"Tell me the truth! Who—who are you?" The girl's voice faltered and broke, her hands pulling so hard on the reins as to cause her restless mare to back away.
I was compelled to speak now, rapidly, my voice full of a sympathy and earnestness I made no effort to conceal. She appealed to me; outside her unfortunate situation, merely as a woman she appealed. Even the bravery with which she faced me, sitting there straight and slender in the saddle, was pathetic.
"Don't draw back," I said quickly. "Don't be afraid. Nothing will harm you. I pledge you the word and honor of a soldier that no unfriendly hand shall touch you, no word be spoken to which you need object. Only listen and I will explain all. It is true I am not Lieutenant Dunn, but you are personally as safe with me as you would be riding this road with him. I mean to take you to his people at Fairview, and leave you there entirely unharmed by this night's adventure."
"But—but who are you?"
"A soldier left wounded on the field, who, seeking to escape from capture, was compelled to assume this uniform."
"A—Yankee?" the question barely audible, yet the low voice expressive of intense horror.
"Yes, as you use the term," I admitted, yet even then scarcely comprehending what the word signified to her. "I am from the West, but belong to the Federal army."
Her figure seemed to sink down into the saddle, her head drooping forward.
"Are you so bitterly prejudiced as to believe all Northerners are unworthy? Can you not forget the color of the uniform for a single hour, and trust me to act justly?"
She straightened up instantly, gripping the saddle pommel, and staring toward me through the night.
"But—but," she sobbed, the full bewildering horror of it echoing in her voice. "We have been married! O Father of mercy—married to a Yankee!"
I put my hand out upon the bit of her mare, leaning toward her in my eagerness to explain, determined to finish before she could again interrupt. Better a confession of the whole truth now, except that I durst not trust her with the news I hoped to bear across the river.
"I beg you listen to me; listen to all I have to say. If you fully comprehend the situation you may not condemn me so completely. I know I have done wrong have been guilty of a cowardly act—yet it is not beyond remedy, and I have been driven to it for the preservation of life. Believe me when I say that I respect you; that I will treat you with all honor; only hear what I have to say in my own defence. To be a Federal soldier is not a crime, nor evidence of a debased manhood. That we should differ in time of war does not mean that all which is gentlemanly should be enrolled upon the one side. There are true, honest, upright men wearing both uniforms—the difference between us is political. I am in the Northern army because I am a Northerner, because I have been educated in the principles of that section of the country, and have been called upon to fight to sustain them. Surely you cannot despise me for that alone. That would not be just, nor womanly. I am going to appeal to you simply as a man, not as a partisan. Forget that I was born north, and you south of Mason and Dixon's line, and judge my actions from a fairer standard. Can you do this?"
She did not move nor answer, yet her very silence gave me renewed courage.
"I know you can and will. You have the face and eyes of a woman to be trusted, to be confided in—"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I saw you yesterday, while you were talking with the negro Joe, in the tool-shed."
"You—you were there?—you overheard?"
"Yes," I confessed unwillingly, for her tone was a rebuke. "But I was not an eavesdropper from choice. I was there in concealment, and had fallen asleep. Your voices awoke me."
I knew she was staring toward me, still dazed by the discovery of who I was, unable to decide what to do or say, although her feature, were utterly indistinguishable. At last she seemed to gain sufficient control of her breath to falter,
"You may go on; I—I will listen."
"It is only a short story. I was a member of Reynolds's battery, having enlisted from Illinois. I have been in the service nearly two years. During that last battle yonder, your soldiers charged and captured our guns. In the struggle I was struck in the side by a splinter, and rendered unconscious by a blow on the head. I chanced to fall beneath the cannon, which had been so demolished as to be rendered useless, and lay there like one dead until late at night. When consciousness returned I realized the horrors of my situation, as well as the certainty of capture and imprisonment if I remained there until daylight. Finding myself able to move, I crawled to a near-by stream, attended as best I could to my wounds, and, remembering a vague glimpse of your house down the valley, caught as our battery went forward into action, I naturally turned in that direction, seeking for some place of concealment until another night-fall."
She did not change her posture, yet as I paused I could plainly hear her rapid breathing.
"It was a hard journey, yet I finally crept into your tool-shed just before daybreak, and fell asleep. Your conversation with the negro aroused me, and after you had both gone, and the night came to hide my movements, I succeeded in procuring some food. Before starting to find my way into the Federal lines, I chanced to overhear some conversation on the front veranda, and learned that an orderly was expected to arrive at any moment from the west. Realizing the advantage of possessing his horse and uniform, I resolved to waylay the rider. To accomplish this I made my way back as far as the creek crossing, and lay in wait there. It was not long before a mounted man came down the opposite bank, and stopped to water his horse in the stream. Ten minutes later he was lying there helpless, securely gagged and bound, and I was leading his horse forward, hoping to steal past your plantation unobserved in the darkness."
"But—but it was not the orderly you attacked," she exclaimed. "It was Calvert Dunn."
"Yes, it was Lieutenant Dunn, but I assure you he was left unhurt. What followed I think you already know: how I was discovered by Joe and your brother; how in the gloom they very naturally mistook me for Dunn; how they insisted upon my coming up to the house. I was compelled to yield to their insistence, or else fight them; I never thought at that moment of Dunn's special mission. It merely seemed as if the mistake in identity gave me an opportunity for escape. You realize how all the rest was forced upon me; there appeared no possible way to avoid what happened. When I first arose to my feet at the request of the Chaplain, it was with the intention of knocking your father and brother down, and making a mad rush for the horses. But I hesitated a moment too long. Even as I stood there, bracing myself for the struggle, the Chaplain began, and you took my hand. Then do you comprehend what induced me to remain silent?"
I paused in vain; there was no sound, no movement.
"It was because I knew how you dreaded that marriage with Calvert Dunn."
"And," she burst forth, "did you imagine I would prefer one with you?"
"Certainly not, but it saved you from him and from what might have proven a life-time of misery. You need never see me again, and any court would immediately grant you a divorce on the ground of fraud. I even doubt if such a marriage would be held legal."
"But—but, you do not understand," her words almost sobs. "I have ridden away with you. I am here alone with you now."
"My purpose is to leave you at Fairview. It will require no more than two hours from the time we left your people before we arrive there. No one need ever know the truth, excepting those anxious to protect your good name. You may trust me implicitly."
"Trust you—you! What, after all this? After your lies, your eavesdropping, your spying, your tricking of me into this awful situation? God forgive me! Married to a Yankee! Release my rein!"
I hesitated, the fierce flaming up of her anger so suddenly paralyzing my senses. There was a swift uplifting of her arm to a level with my head.
"I mean it! You thought me helpless, and—and in your power, but I am not. You drop that rein, or I'll fire. Oh, I can do it, you—you miserable Yankee spy! I hate and despise you!"
She drew back her horse, wheeling the animal about, yet turning in the saddle herself so as to keep me in view.
"I do not know why I do not kill you," she exclaimed, her voice growing bitter with anger. "It is what I should do; you deserve it by your own confession, and the one shot would release me. Married to a Yankee!" every syllable hissing from her lips. "The very thought crazes me and puts murder in my heart. I am going to Fairview alone—alone! Do you hear that? If you dare attempt to follow me I will shoot you in your tracks as I would a dog, you low-down, Yankee cur."
With a single swift leap forward, both horse and rider disappeared in the gloom.