Marcy, the Refugee

"Did Beardsley or Hanson say anything about me?" was Marcy's next question.

"All I heard de cap'n say was dat de oberseer an' Shelby want to watch out dat you don't see 'em when you come out'n de house," replied Julius. "Dey don't want you to know dey was dar."

Julius gave way strong on the oars and Marcy steered the boat, listened for sounds of pursuit, and thought over the situation. He made up his mind to one thing before he had left the house fairly out of sight, and that was that Captain Beardsley and Colonel Shelby would be sorry that they had had anything to do with the Home Guards. His patience was all gone now, and every move they made should be met by a counter-movement on his own part. He thought he knew the name of every man in the company, and he would take pains to see that the Federal commander at Plymouth knew them also and where they lived; and while he was waiting for the Yankees to do something he would do something himself, beginning that very night.

Having at last satisfied himself that the Home Guards were not pursuing him, Marcy dismissed them from his mind for the present, his actions indicating that he was looking for some object he expected to find in the creek in advance of him. He was searching for Beardsley's schooner, and was so long in finding it that he began to fear her owner had stolen a march upon him by towing her from the creek to a safer hiding-place. But the captain evidently thought she could not be in any safer berth than the one she had always occupied in the creek in front of his house, for there was where Marcy found her, as he was on the point of giving up the search and telling Julius to pull for Middle River the best he knew how, for there was a man waiting for them there.

"It seems a pity to destroy a fine vessel like this," said Marcy, as Julius caught the fore chains and allowed the current to swing the boat broadside to the Hattie.

"Well, den, what for dat rebel burn all dem fine ships out on de watah like Marse Jack tell about?" demanded Julius. "An' what for de cap'n brung all dem Home Gyards to de house to cotch you an' tote you off to jail?"

With all Beardsley's persecutions so fresh in his mind, Marcy Gray did not stand upon the order of going to work but went at once. Before Julius ceased speaking he was over the schooner's rail, with a bag of "fat" wood in one hand and an axe in the other. The hatches were fastened down of course, and the door that gave entrance to the cabin was locked; but the latter yielded to a single heavy blow with the axe, and Marcy went in and emptied his bag of kindling wood upon the floor. Then he piled upon it everything he found in the cabin that he could move, including the slats in the bunks, the tables and chairs, and the doors that he could tear from their hinges. Over all he poured a couple of quarts of oil from bottles that he had brought with him for the purpose, and set fire to it in three or four different places. He waited until he saw the work of destruction fairly begun, and then ran on deck and dropped into the boat.

"Now set me ashore at the foot of that poplar to which the breast-line is made fast," said he. "I want Beardsley to know who did this work, and why it was done. But of course he knows without any telling."

"Hi yi, Marse Mahcy, she gwine go right up in de elemunts!" cried Julius, as a cloud of smoke, which was brightly illumined by the fire that was blazing beneath, came pouring out of the cabin-door.

"I think I made a sure thing of it," answered Marcy. "Of course she will burn readily, for everything in the cabin is covered with paint or varnish. We can't get away from here any too quick. Hurry up."

It did not take Julius more than two minutes to row around the stern of the schooner to the tree to which the breast-line was fastened, nor did it take Marcy longer than that to spring ashore and place upon a neighboring tree, in a conspicuous position where it would be sure to catch the eye of the first man who passed that way, the note which he had written that afternoon while his mother was packing his valise. It was addressed to Captain Beardsley, and ran as follows:

This is to pay you for the share you had in bringing Hanson back to our plantation, and in organizing the Home Guards to take me to Williamston Jail. This is the first payment on a big debt I owe you and Colonel Shelby. If you do not wish any more like it take Hanson away from our place at once and keep him away; and furthermore, keep everybody else away from there. You are on a false scent, and so long as you follow it, so long will you continue to lose property. There is no large sum of money in or around the house. When you become satisfied of that fact perhaps you will cease troubling my mother.

Placing this note on the side of the tree opposite the fire so that it would not be scorched by the heat, and fastening it there with three or four wooden pins so that the wind would not blow it away, Marcy ran back to the boat, and Julius once more pushed out into the stream. He turned to look behind him every few minutes, but the boat was pulled into Middle River, and perhaps two or three miles down its swift current toward the coast, before he saw any signs of the fire he had left behind; and at the moment his eye caught its first faint reflection on the clouds, he heard a cautious hail from the bank.

"Boat ahoy!" came through the darkness in tones that were just loud enough to attract his attention.

"Who is it?" demanded Marcy, picking up the loaded gun that lay beside him in the stern-sheets. "Way enough, Julius."

"Mebbe dat aint de man you want see," replied the boy, handling the oars as if he meant to turn the boat toward the opposite bank.

"I am Aleck Webster's father," said the voice, in answer to Marcy's question. "Ben Hawkins sent me here to show you the way to our camp."

"When did you see Hawkins?" inquired Marcy.

"This afternoon; and he told me that the Home Guards were likely to drive you away from home to-night. It's all right, Mister Marcy."

The latter was so sure of it that he at once turned the boat toward the point from which the voice came (the night was so dark that he could not see anything but bushes and trees on the bank), and in two minutes more was standing by Mr. Webster's side. The man pointed toward the bright spot on the clouds and said, in a voice that Marcy recognized this time:

"Are the Home Guards out to-night?"

"Oh, yes; they're out, and came to my mother's house, or I shouldn't be here now. But they didn't set anything on fire so far as I know."

"Then whose work is that? There's something burning off that way."

"It is the work of Marcy, the Refugee. That's I. After persecuting me for months in every way he could think of, Beardsley has driven me from home at last, and I set fire to his schooner to pay him for it."

"I am a refugee myself," replied Mr. Webster. "And there's my hand, which says that I will stand your friend as long as you need one. If the Home Guards had been organized a few weeks sooner Aleck would not have left us old men and boys to fight our battles alone. But he had an idea that the presence of the Yankees on the coast would serve as a protection to us; and there's where he was wrong. If we don't do something at once, they will follow us into the swamp and kill or capture the last one of us. That fight in Hampton Roads put life and energy into them."

"I don't see why it should. They got the worst of it."

"Are you sure?" exclaimed Mr. Webster. "I heard that we got the worst of it; that some of our best ships were sunk or burned."

"Will it be quite safe for us to stop here long enough to have a snack?" said Marcy. "Then, Julius, you may hand out that brown basket; the one with the napkin spread over the top. I'm hungry, and I suppose you are, Mr. Webster, for you have walked from your home since Hawkins saw you this afternoon. By the way, where is Hawkins now?"

"He will hang around the settlement as long as he can, and take to the woods only when he sees that preparations are being made to compel him to go back to the army. Didn't you see him with the Home Guards to-night?"

Marcy replied that he did not see anybody, for he ran before the Home Guards came into the house. If Hawkins was with them, as he had promised to be, Marcy was satisfied that no indignity had been offered to his mother.

By this time Julius had made the boat fast to a tree on the bank and come ashore with the lunch; and while Marcy and his new friend were eating the cold bread and meat he passed over to them, the former gave a true history of that battle in Hampton Roads as he learned it from the papers Captain Barrows left with him. Then he gave a short account of his experience and dealings with Captain Beardsley, so that the man might know just how much reason he had to stand in fear of him, and finally he inquired how many men there were in Mr. Webster's party, and where and how they lived. He learned that there was an even score of them now, seven of their number (one of whom was Ben Hawkins) being paroled prisoners, who declared that they would fight rather than go back to the army. It had been the habit of the original members of the band to go into the woods whenever they desired to talk about things that they didn't want their rebel neighbors to know; but ever since they heard of the Home Guards, whose avowed object it was to send all the Union men they could find to Williamston Jail, they had become refugees in earnest, some of them having taken up their permanent abode in the camp. Those who had families to look out for now and then visited their homes during the daytime; but judging by the way things looked now, that small privilege would soon be denied them.

"And when it comes so that we can't see our folks for fear of being shot, or marched off to jail, we'll take to visiting them in the nighttime," said Mr. Webster, in concluding his story. "And if we have to do that, we'll light fires to show us the way back to camp."

Having disposed of a good share of the contents of the brown basket, Mr. Webster declared that it was time for them to start for the camp, which was located in one of Captain Beardsley's wood lots, and not more than five miles away. He said that, as long as Captain Beardsley continued to trouble him and his friends, they would sleep on his grounds, warm themselves and cook their meals over fires built with wood that was cut from his trees, steal his corn meal and bacon, and shoot his hogs as often as they came within range of the camp. Mr. Webster's canoe was close by, and when he stepped into it he fastened the painter of Marcy's boat to a cleat in the stern, so that the two little crafts would not become separated in the darkness. It might require some talking to bring them together again, and they did not want to do much of that until they were safe in camp. As they shoved off from the bank they took a last look at that bright spot on the clouds, which had been growing brighter and larger every moment since it appeared, bearing unmistakable testimony to the destructive work that was going on beneath it. If the fire had attracted the attention of the Home Guards (and Marcy did not see how it could be otherwise), they did not reach the creek in time to save the schooner. Marcy wondered what Captain Beardsley's feelings were about that time.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CONCLUSION

When Marcy Gray opened his eyes the next morning at daylight, he was in the camp of the refugees, which was to be his home, at irregular intervals, for long months to come, and surrounded by men who, like himself, were being persecuted for their opinions' sake. The camp was located on an island in a remote corner of the swamp that Marcy had never seen before, although he had hunted through the country for miles on every side of his mother's plantation. In the middle of the island was a cleared space, perhaps fifty feet in diameter, and all the bushes and trees that had been cut from it were piled around the circumference, to serve the double purpose of wind-break and breastwork. There were no horses or mules among the refugees to make a trail through the woods that could be followed by the Home Guards and soldiers, and no dogs to attract their attention by their baying; but there were canoes and boats in plenty, and, except when in use, they were concealed in the bushes, so that they could not be seen from the mainland. There were several snug lean-tos in the camp, to which the refugees retreated in stormy weather; but, when the elements were friendly, they preferred to wrap themselves in their blankets, and sleep under the trees. When the newcomer opened his eyes on this particular morning, the first object they rested on was the bearded face of Ben Hawkins, the paroled prisoner. He was lying under the same tree, and had been waiting half an hour for Marcy to wake up.

"I reckon it does you good to sleep in the open air," were the first words he spoke.

"Want of sleep is something that never troubles me," was the reply. "Were you out with the Home Guards last night? And how did they treat my mother after they got into the house?"

"Didn't I say that the first one amongst 'em who looked cross-ways at her, or said anything out of the way, would have to answer to me for it?" demanded Hawkins. "I said that much to 'em before we went into your yard; and well, them Home Guards know me."

"I assure you that I shall not forget it," said Marcy gratefully. "I hope you did not say or do anything to add to their suspicions. You know you told me they were afraid to trust you. And why did you come here instead of going home?"

"I don't care a cent if they distrust me now more'n they did before," answered Hawkins. "I'm watching 'em, and they'll have to get up in the morning to get the start of me. And I come to camp to see if you was here, and find out if it was that little nigger's yelling that warned you."

"That was just it," replied Marcy. "If Beardsley hadn't caught him, he would surely have caught me. What did Beardsley have to say for himself?"

"He was purty bad hurt, I tell you; and we had to hold him in the hoss-trough for as much as a minute before he came to. He's bound to kill that nigger. He didn't see him have no club in his hand when he ketched him."

"Julius never struck him with a club," exclaimed Marcy. "He gave him a butt under the ear."

The Confederate uttered an ejaculation indicative of the greatest astonishment, and then he sat up on his blanket, reached over Marcy's shoulder, and began throwing aside the leaves and branches until he uncovered a gray quilt. This he pulled off in spite of the desperate efforts of some one beneath to prevent it, and when he drew the quilt over Marcy's shoulder, he brought with it the boy Julius, who was highly enraged because his dreamless slumber had been so rudely disturbed.

"Did you like to butt the life out of Cap'n Beardsley last night?" inquired Hawkins. "Come here, and let me see how hard your head is."

"Take you' hands off'n dat head," sputtered Julius. "I buck one rebel las' night, an' you want watch out dat I don't buck nodder one dis mawning." Then he became good-natured all at once, for he thought of something he wanted to ask Hawkins. "What Beardsley say when he seen his fine schooner go up in de clouds?"

"He was mad and sorry and skeered," answered Hawkins. "I'll bet you, Mister Marcy, that he plum forgot about that schooner, or he wouldn't have been in such a hurry to help Shelby raise the Home Guards. Of course we rode hard for the fire as soon as we seen it, but we couldn't do no good after we got there. The schooner was too far gone."

"Did Beardsley find the note I left for him?" asked Marcy.

"Shelby found it and give it to him; and it was when he read it that he looked sorry and skeered. It was lucky you wrote it, for it kept some of the Home Guards from being killed."

"How do you make that out?"

"Just this a way," answered Hawkins. "They allowed, after they got through with you, to go to the houses of two more Union men so't you would have company when you was took to jail. But when Shelby heard your letter read he put for his home quick's he could go, some others who lived up his way went with him, and that sorter broke up the party. Leastwise it didn't leave enough to capture them two Union men, who I knew were on the watch and ready to shoot. I went to their houses afterward, and brought them into the swamp with me. They're getting mighty tired of living in this way, and they allow to rise up and drive Beardsley and Shelby out'n the country. There wouldn't be no trouble in the settlement if them two was out of it."

"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.

"You writ him a pretty sassy letter, didn't you?" said he.

"I told him what I want him to do, and what he may expect if he doesn't do it," was Marcy's reply. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to know where I got the letter, and I told him I was hog-hunting in the woods and met a Union man, who asked me would I give it to him, and I said I would," answered Hawkins. "Then he got mad and whooped and hollered, and said he'd be shot if he stirred one step away from his home; but I reckon he thought better of it when I told him that Miss Gray's overseer would be in Plymouth to-night, and that a squad of Yankee cavalry would be looking for him and Shelby to-morrer. That was all right, wasn't it?"

"Perfectly right. I don't care a cent what starts him, so long as he starts. Now for Hanson. We ought to find him in a field about a quarter of a mile away in this direction. I am afraid he will run when he sees me."

"If he does I'll stop him," replied Hawkins, patting the butt of a long squirrel-rifle he carried on his shoulder.

For the first time in many months things seemed to be working in Marcy's favor; for when he and his companion came within sight of the field in which Hanson ought to have found employment that day for Mrs. Gray's hands, he was there, and he did not see them until after they had crossed the fence and made considerable progress toward him. The sight of Marcy made Hanson uneasy – his actions proved that – and it is probable that he would have taken to his heels if the boy had not been in the company of a Confederate soldier who was also a member of the Home Guards. Still he must have feared treachery, for when Marcy approached close enough to speak to him, he saw that his face was very white, and that his hands trembled so violently he could scarcely hold his knife and the stick he was trying to cut.

"Morning, gentlemen," said he with a strong effort to appear at his ease. "Fine morning, this morning."

"Cicero," said Marcy, addressing one of the field hands and paying no sort of attention to the overseer's greeting, "unless you receive other orders from my mother, you will have charge of this work until I return. Hanson is going with me."

"With you, Mister Marcy!" said the man, in a weak voice. "The missus done told me to come out here."

"She gave you no orders whatever, and you have not seen her this morning. I order you to get ready to go to Plymouth," answered Marcy; whereupon Hawkins placed his rifle upon the ground and drew a rope from one of his pockets.