Marcy, the Refugee

The captain went into his cabin, and when he came out again, a short time afterward, he was dressed in full uniform and wore his side-arms. He seemed to be in no particular hurry to leave the vessel, for although breakfast had been served and eaten, the long red meal pennant was still floating from the masthead, and the blue-jackets were smoking their pipes on the forecastle; but Jonas was loitering around, looking as happy as a darky always does after he has enjoyed a hearty repast, and when he saw the captain beckoning to him he came aft. What the Union officer wanted to question him about this time was as to the quickest and safest methods that could be employed to take a company of, say fifty men, through the country to Beardsley's house and Gray's, and bring them back to the fleet. Would it be necessary for this company to march overland, or could it go the whole or a part of the way in boats? and was there any danger that the men would be forced to fight their way? Jonas answered all his questions as readily as though he had known beforehand what they were going to be; and when the captain brought the interview to a close by sending the negro forward again, he held in his hand a rude map of all the principal waterways that intersected the mainland south of Plymouth and north and west of Middletown, and had learned how the garrison at the first-named town could be easily and safely avoided. Then he stepped into his gig, which was called away when the meal pennant was hauled down, and was taken on board the flagship.

His superior officer must have approved of the plans which Captain Benton (for that was the name of the Yankee skipper who had once been Lon Beardsley's prisoner) submitted for securing the services of a pilot who was familiar with the waters through which the fleet was to sail to victory, although not very much was done toward carrying them out until after dark. The day was not a favorable one for a movement on the part of the Union forces, for a thick fog came rolling in from the sea and covered the waters of the Sound. Once during the forenoon it lifted long enough to disclose the rebel fortifications on the Island, and the double rows of piles and sunken ships through which the Fairy Belle had sailed a few weeks before, with Commodore Lynch's eight boats above, and then it settled down again thicker than ever. But two of the Union commanders at least were not idle, and when darkness came to conceal its movements, the expedition which they had quietly prepared during the day put off for the shore. It consisted of four cutters filled with small-armed men, two being from Captain Benton's vessel and the others from the gunboat that lay next astern. The work of securing the pilots was to be done by two squads of twenty men each, one under command of Captain Benton's executive officer, the second being led by an acting ensign from the other vessel. Mr. Watkins's boat was first in the line and the boy Jonas, who crouched in the bow of his cutter, was the guide and pilot.

A second expedition, which put off from the flag-ship an hour later, held straight for the shore and stopped when it got there; but the one in whose fortunes we are at present most interested did not stop. It turned into the mouth of a little river which was seldom navigated, even by the fishing and trading boats that were so numerous in the Sound. It was known as Middle River; and if Jonas, who had lived upon its banks ever since he could remember, had been asked how long it was and where it took its rise, he would have been obliged to say that he did not know. But he did know that by following some of its numerous tributaries the expedition could pass in the rear of the forts at Plymouth into Seven Mile Creek, and land within a few hundred yards of Captain Beardsley's house and Marcy's. And that was just what it did.

Although the strictest silence and caution were observed, the progress of the blue-jackets was not as slow and laborious as those who knew where they were going thought it would be, and neither did they see or hear anything to be afraid of. Only once during the long hours they passed in those narrow, crooked streams did they hear a sound to tell them where they were, and that was when a distant sentry on the right bank, and a little astern of them, shouted the number of his post and called out that all was well. Then the blue-jackets drew a long breath of relief, and congratulated themselves and each other on having passed Plymouth without knowing it. Perhaps this was a fortunate thing for Jonas. It might have frightened the wits all out of him if he had dreamed of such a thing, but the two sailors who crouched by his side in the leading cutter held revolvers in their hands, and were under orders to shoot him down at the first sign of treachery. He knew, however, that they were watching him, for on several occasions, when it was found necessary to change the course of the boat in order to follow the windings of the stream, they had cautioned him to clap a stopper on his jaw-tackle and pass his instructions aft in a whisper, like any other white gentleman.

"Da' now! Da' now!" said Jonas suddenly.

"Not so loud, you black rascal," commanded one of the guards, emphasizing his words with a crushing grip on the negro's shoulder. "What's the row?"

"Cap'n Beardsley used to live right ober da', 'fore de Union men riz up an' burn' him out," replied Jonas.

"We don't care where he used to live," growled the tar. "Where does he live now?"

"Right ober da'," repeated the negro. "An' you uns got ter lan' heah on de lef' han' side ob de bayou."

This information was duly passed aft to Mr. Watkins, who sat in the stern-sheets by the side of the coxswain, and the first cutter was turned in toward the bank, the others following close in her wake. When Mr. Watkins stepped ashore, he demanded of Jonas why he had landed the expedition in those dark woods where there was not a sign of a house to be seen; and the negro hastened to explain that the road lay about a quarter of a mile straight ahead, and that the house in which Beardsley formerly lived stood on the other side of it. The drive-way, which ran close by the ruins of the dwelling, led into a lane that passed through the quarter; and there, in the overseer's house, was where Beardsley lived now. This much having been learned, and a guard being left in charge of the boats, forty sailors, with Jonas and his keepers at their head, began threading their way through the thick bushes in the direction in which the road lay. Twenty minutes' time sufficed to bring them to it, but when Jonas began giving further instructions and directions Mr. Watkins interrupted him.

"Right da' is de drive-way," said he, "an' down da' is de lane dat goes fru de quarter. Look out fur de houn' dogs, an' don't waste no time in foolin', kase Beardsley's niggers say he mighty timersome sense you Yankees come on de coast, an' de fust thing you know he run out de back do' an' take to de bresk. Now, sar, moster – "

"Take the boy with you and go ahead, Mr. Burnham," commanded the executive officer. "And it might be well for you to act upon the hint he has given, and surround the house as quickly and quietly as possible. Remember the signal, and when you are done with the boy send him back to me under guard."

In obedience to these orders Mr. Burnham's squad moved through the open gate at a quick but noiseless pace, Jonas and his keepers leading the way, and in a few minutes disappeared in the darkness. Ten minutes were passed in silence, and then the angry protests of a small army of dogs, mingled with the doleful yelps of one which had been knocked endways by a savage blow from the butt of a Spencer carbine in the hands of a blue-jacket, whom he had tried to seize by the throat, arose on the still air, being almost immediately followed by a single shrill note from a boatswain's whistle. This was the signal agreed upon, and it brought to Mr. Watkins' ears the intelligence that if Captain Beardsley was in his house, he was now shut up in it and could not escape. In less than ten minutes more Jonas and his two guards were heard coming back along the drive-way at double-quick; whereupon Mr. Watkins's own squad, which up to this time had remained motionless in the road, set out at a brisk walk for Mrs. Gray's dwelling.

"This is the place where the Union pilot lives, is it?" said Mr.

Watkins, when Jonas halted and pointed out the house.

"Yes, sar, moster, dat's de place. No dogs heah to pester you, kase ole Bose done killed by de robbers. I speck Mahcy Gray mighty dubersome sense dem robbers been heah, an' mebbe he fight; but you uns luf Jonas talk to him, an' clem you see him open de front do' too quick. No need to circumroun' dis house. Marse Mahcy aint gwine run off."

Mr. Watkins's men were moving toward the house while the negro was talking in this way, and now they were drawn up in line in front of the gallery by the master's mate, who was second in command, while Mr. Watkins mounted the steps and pounded upon the door with such effect that he awoke echoes in all the wide halls. The startling summons frightened old Morris so badly that he drew his head under the bed-clothes; sent Julius like a shot out of the back window and scurrying barelegged through the garden; reached the ears of a pale but resolute woman, who hastily began arraying herself in such garments as she could find in the dark, and brought out of bed an excited, determined boy who opened an upper window with a crash, and shoved the muzzles of two heavy revolvers down at the blue-jackets. This was Marcy Gray. When his eye fell upon the double line of men in front of the house he made up his mind that the robbers had come out in full force this time.

"Get out of that, or I will blow some of you to kingdom come!" said he, without a quiver in his voice. "One – two – "

"Avast there!" exclaimed the master's mate.

"Don't shoot, Marse Mahcy, honey!" cried Jonas, who thought that both the revolvers were pointed straight at his own head. "Dese yer folks all Yankees, sar; all Yankees de las' blessed one ob 'em, sar."

"Jonas, is that you?" said Marcy, who could scarcely believe his ears. "What brought you here at this hour of the night, and how came you in the company of such a gang as that?"

"If you are Marcy Gray, I beg to assure you that we are here for no evil purpose," said Mr. Watkins, who now came down from the porch and looked up at the boy. "We want to see you particularly. Come down, if you please, and let me explain."

"You're quite sure you are Union, are you?" said Marcy, who, at first, could not make up his mind that this was not a ruse on the part of lawless men to gain admission to the house; but, on second thought, he concluded that it was not, for, if they had been determined to come in, they could have done it by breaking down the doors, or smashing the windows, and that, too, without taking the trouble to call him and his mother.

"We are quite positive on that point," answered Mr. Watkins. "We belong to the Burnside expedition. You knew we were in the Sound, I suppose?"

"I am satisfied, and will be down while you are thinking about it," said Marcy, slamming the window, and hastening back to his room.

He lingered there long enough to put on a few articles of clothing, and then ran down the stairs with a lighted lamp in his hand. In the lower hall he found his mother, who was bravely striving to nerve herself to face something more dreadful than she had yet experienced. She had heard Marcy talking to the men who were gathered in front of the house, and, although she had not been able to catch any of the words that passed between them, she was somewhat reassured when she looked into her son's beaming face.

"Who are they?" she asked calmly. "Surely they do not act like the robbers, who – "

"They are Yankees from the fleet, and want to see me about something," was the excited reply. "Will you take this lamp into the parlor while I admit them?"

Certainly his mother would do that; but what could the Yankees want of Marcy at that time of night, and how did they hear of him, in the first place, and find out where he lived?

"Doctor Patten's boy, Jonas, told them, most likely; but when and where they picked him up beats me. I can't imagine what they want, either; but I will open the door for them as readily as I would for Jack," replied Marcy; and, as his mother turned into the parlor with the lamp, he went down the hall to the front door.

"Are you Marcy Gray, the pilot?" inquired Mr. Watkins, as the two saluted each other, instead of shaking hands.

"Caesar's ghost!" was the ejaculation that trembled on the boy's lips; and then he wondered if he was to be arrested for acting as pilot for Captain Beardsley's privateer and blockade runner.

"Because, if you are, you are the man I want to see," continued the officer.

"Will you come in?" answered Marcy, who thought it best to hold his peace until he had received some insight into the nature of the business that had brought his visitor there.

The latter complied, and, when he entered the parlor, was rather taken aback to find a dignified lady there. He saluted her courteously, and, without intending to do so, added to her fears at the same time that he explained his errand, by saying:

"I beg a thousand pardons, madam, for intruding upon your privacy at this unseemly hour; but the truth is, our fleet has gone as far toward the enemy as it can go without the aid of pilots to direct its movements. The name of Marcy Gray has been mentioned to my commander, Captain Benton, and I am here to secure his services."

"Oh, sir!" cried Mrs. Gray, clasping her hands appealingly. "Would you cruelly rob me of the only son I have left, and take him into battle? He has already been sadly injured during this terrible war."

The fact that Marcy carried one of his arms in a sling had not escaped the notice of the officer, and now he looked at the boy rather sharply. There was but one conclusion to be drawn, he told himself: If Marcy got that wounded arm in battle, he must have been fighting on the Confederate side.

"I was not aware that the young man was in the service," said he coldly.

"I thought he was Union."

"And so I am," exclaimed Marcy. "I have a brother in your service, and he is aboard one of your gunboats at this moment. I know, for I took him out to the fleet before the fortifications at Roanoke Island were completed. Did you speak of a Captain Benton just now? I once met a sea-captain of that name, but of course the commander of a Union war-ship can't be the man I saw insulted and abused by a mob in Newbern."

"How and when did that happen?" demanded the officer, his face exhibiting the profoundest interest.

"It was when the crew of the prize-schooner Mary Hollins were marched off to jail," replied Marcy. "It was no fault of mine that I saw them captured, for I am Union to the backbone. I have been persecuted on account of my principles – "

"My lad," exclaimed Mr. Watkins, taking Marcy's uninjured hand in both his own, "were you on the Osprey when she made a prize of the schooner Hollins?"

"I was," answered Marcy, becoming as excited as the officer appeared to be. "I passed as her pilot and drew pay as such; but I did duty as foremast hand most of the time, and sailed on her because I could not help myself. May I ask if you know anything about it? I do not remember of seeing you among the crew."

"I know all about it although I wasn't there," answered Mr. Watkins, whose astonishment would scarcely permit him to speak plainly. "My commander, Captain Benton, was master of the Mary Hollins at the time she was captured by that pirate. He is now acting volunteer lieutenant in the navy of the United States, and commands one of the finest vessels in Flag-officer Goldsborough's squadron."

Marcy Gray had never been more amazed in his life.

CHAPTER X.

BEARDSLEY IN TROUBLE

The profound silence that reigned in the room for a minute or two after Mr. Watkins made his extraordinary announcement, was broken at last by Marcy Gray, who exclaimed eagerly:

"If that is the man who wants to see me, I hope you will take me to him at once. I have wanted to meet him ever since that miserable day when I stood by and saw him make his gallant attempt at escape, for I have seventeen hundred dollars that belong to him – my share of the prize money his schooner sold for, you know, captain."

"Mister, if you please," said the officer, with a smile. "I used to be captain in the merchant marine, but am now executive officer of Captain Benton's vessel, and am simply Mr. Watkins."

"Mr. Watkins," interposed Mrs. Gray, "my son has saved all the money that came to him through the sale of the Hollins, and longed for and dreamed of the day when he could restore it to its lawful owner. When Captain Beardsley turned his privateer into a blockade runner Marcy refused to take out a venture, though by so doing he might have made his seventeen hundred dollars of prize money bring him five thousand more. Captain Benton's money is safe, and he will receive it in the same shape in which it was paid to my son. But, sir," added Mrs. Gray, seeing that the officer did not occupy the chair that had been placed for him, "I trust you will not find it necessary to take Marcy into battle."

"I really cannot see anyway in which it can be avoided, madam," said Mr. Watkins truthfully. "There is bound to be a fight if the enemy stands his ground, and my vessel will be one of the foremost in it. But I hope you understand that we do not mean to keep him with us unless he wants to stay. He will be at liberty to return to you as soon as his services can be dispensed with."

"Yes, sir, I understand that," said the mother tearfully. "But a stray bullet or a shell will be as likely to strike a non-combatant as any one else. I have given one son to the service of his country, and I can give another; but when you take Marcy you take all I have."

The officer drew his hand across his eyes, as if brushing away a mist that was gathering there, and looked up at a painting over the mantel; while Marcy, knowing that the parting must come, and that it would be better to have it over as speedily as possible, began to bestir himself.

"I will have the money dug up right now," said he. "And, mother, while I am doing that, will you bring down my Union flag – not the weather-beaten one, but the other that I hoisted on the Fairy Belle when I took Jack out to the fleet."

"I little expected to find a Union flag down here," said Mr. Watkins, who was very much surprised. "I should think you would find it dangerous to keep one."

"So we would if the people around here knew it was in the house," replied Marcy. "But that is something we don't publish. Your men will not bother me if I go into the garden, will they?"

"I will see that they don't," was the answer; and, while Marcy went out of the back door as if he had been thrown from a catapult, Mr. Watkins went out at the front, and Mrs. Gray hastened to her son's room with a pair of scissors in her hand. Marcy went to the coachman's cabin and felt for the latch-string; but it had been pulled in, and that proved that old Morris was inside. He pounded upon the door, and called the black man's name impatiently.

"O Lawd! Who dat?" came in muffled tones from under the blankets.

Before Marcy could answer Julius glided around the corner of the cabin, looking like a small black ghost very scantily clad in white. He had been brave enough when the robbers made their raid upon the house and there was a strong force of Union men to back him up, but now that he thought the robbers had come again to finish their work, when Aleck Webster and his friends were not at hand to lend assistance, he was very badly frightened.

"I don't suppose Morris will get up and let me in, but you will do as well as anybody," said Marcy. "Get a spade, quick, and come with me. No, they are not robbers. They are Yankees, and I am to go to the fleet with them; and that is all I can tell you. Hurry up."

While Julius was digging in one of Mrs. Gray's flower-beds under Marcy's supervision, and the quilt on his bed was being ripped to pieces, Mr. Watkins was standing in the front yard, telling the master's mate what he had seen and heard in the house. The young officer was astonished, and declared he had never dreamed that there was such Union sentiment anywhere in the South.

"I did not believe there was either, though I have often heard of it," replied Mr. Watkins, "but I believe it now. It is easy enough for us who are surrounded by loyal people to swear by the old flag, but I tell you it must take pluck and plenty of it to do it down here. I wish some one else had been ordered to do this work, for I have taken her last prop away from that poor woman in there. She is a heroine; and as for the boy, he is as true as steel, and as brave as they make them. One can't look in his face and think anything else of him. He has gone to dig up the captain's money and will be along directly. I never thought to ask him how he got his hand hurt."

While the officer was adding to his subordinate's surprise by telling how completely Lon Beardsley had reduced Captain Benton to poverty by taking the Hollins from him, Mrs. Gray came down the steps with Marcy's flag in her hand and followed by three laughing darkies, who brought with them large trays loaded with something good to eat and drink – bread and butter, cold meat, and pitchers filled to the brim with the richest of milk. While the hungry gunboat men were regaling themselves and wondering at such treatment from Southerners, all of whom they supposed to be the most implacable and violent of rebels, Mrs. Gray shook out the folds of the flag, and spread it upon the wall where they could all see it. The unexpected sight thrilled them, and every cap was lifted.

"If things wasn't just as they are, missus," said one, "we'd give it a cheer; asking your pardon and the deck's for speaking when I wasn't spoke to."

"But our guns will cheer it in the morning, and they will make more noise than we could," observed another. "Likewise asking pardon for speaking."

At this moment Marcy appeared, bundled up ready for his trip to the coast, and carrying in his hand a valise, which contained, among other things, the box that held Captain Benton's money. It was all in gold, too; for at that time gold was as plenty as scrip in the Confederacy, and Captain Beardsley, ignorant as he was on some points, was much too shrewd a man of business to take paper money when he could have what he called the "hard stuff" for the asking. Had the Hollins been captured one short year later, Marcy would have been obliged to take his share of the prize money in scrip, and Captain Benton might have thought himself lucky if he had received twenty cents on the dollar.

When the blue-jackets had disposed of everything there was on the trays, either by eating it themselves or putting it into the bosom of their shirts, to be divided with the guards who had been left in charge of the boats, and Marcy had stowed his Union flag in his valise, there was nothing to detain them longer. The master's mate marched the squad away while Mr. Watkins lingered a moment, cap in hand, to say good-by to the woman whose quiet courage had excited his admiration.

"Take good care of my boy, sir," said Mrs. Gray, as if she thought the officer could give Marcy a safe station in action, or protect him from the shot and shell that would soon be shrieking about his ears. "Remember he is all I have to give you."

"I'll have an eye upon him, madam, and upon your other boy as well, when I find out where he is," replied Mr. Watkins. "We are not pressing men into our service, and I know I can safely say that Marcy will be permitted to return to his home as soon as we can get along without him."

"I shall have that promise to console me during his absence," said Mrs. Gray. "Good-by, Marcy. When you come back to me I want you to be able to say that you did your duty. Oh, is there no way in which this dreadful state of affairs can be brought to an end?" she cried, once more giving way to her tears when she felt Marcy's arm closing around her waist.

"Certainly there is," answered the officer. "The Richmond authorities can end this war in an hour by telling their soldiers to lay down their arms and stop fighting the government. That would be an easy thing for them to do, and it is all we ask of them. Good-by, Mrs. Gray. I trust we may meet again under pleasanter circumstances."