How I escaped. A novel ... Edited by A. C. Gunter

Front matter

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Book I. How

I STAVED FOR HER. PAGE Chapter I. — " Got your carpet-bag packed ? " 5 " II. — Amos Pierson, - - - 14 " III. — Love or Duty, - - - -22 Cf IV.— The Empty Sleeve, - - 29

Book II. How

I FLED FROM HER. Chapter V. — A Confederate Detective, - -38 " VI.— The Provost Marshal, - - 45 VII.— The Blockade -runner, - - 54 VIII.— The Shovel or the Rifle? - 62 " IX.— The Night Attack, - - - 69

Book III. How

I WON HER. Chapter X. — She Came ! - - - - 79 " XI. — The Red-headed Negro, - 84 " XII. — The Honeymoon in the Blue Ridge, - - - - 93 " XIII.— -When Girl Meets Girl ! - - CONTENTS.

Book IV. How

I CAME BACK AND FOUGHT FOR HER. PAGE Chapter XIV. — Into the Dark Country, - - no XV— Through the Gaps, - - 118 " XVI. — Through the Lines, - - - 132 XVII.— The Letter of Life, - - 144 XVIII.— The Fight for the Bridge, -151 " XIX.— Where was She? - - - 159 " VY TVio Tittle Hncfiirc . . -TIT XX.— The Little Hostage, - - -

Chapter I

"GOT YOUR CARPET-DAG PACKED ?" "Laura — Miss Peyton, mav I have a dance ?" " Certainly ! " " The next waltz ? " " No — the next dance, whatever it is ! Please take the very next, and come with me now. " As she said this, Laura Peyton slipped her arm into mine, and leading me through one of the French windows of the old southern house onto the wide balcony, whispered, her blue eyes blazing with excitement in the moonlight, though her cheeks were pale and her lips trembled: " Law rence, it has come ! " " Do you really mean it ? " " Yes, South Carolina has seceded ! " Her words brought almost despair to my heart, for Laura Peyton was a southern girl and I a northern man; and though but the day before we had plighted our troths and given our loves, I trembled as I thought of what the political passions of the time might bring to our lives.

Seeing my expression, Laura suddenly placed her hand in mine, and whispered : " This shall never alter my promise to you, Lawrence ! " Some girls would have blushed or fluttered with a per haps unconscious coquetry as they said the words, for i this was the second time in her life that wvf fianct'e had called me by my Christian name ; but Laura Peyton's voice was firm and resolute, and Drought back to me a firmness that I must confess for a moment had left me, for I knew the passion that was dominant in the South in 1860, and the manner in which northern men were regarded by a large number of the population south of Mason and Dixon's line. Some of this spirit was observable as we reentered the house, where a few of Laura's young friends were enjoy ing an informal carpet-dance in the large old-fashioned parlor that December evening.

Judge Peyton's residence was about five miles away from the little capital of South Carolina, and the sudden cessation of the music and ex cited exclamations of the guests told us that the news had become generally known to the company. Belle, Laura's younger sister, who had been playing one of those old, long-since-forgotten Jullien polkas, after a moment's pause suddenly attacked the piano again with all the enthusiasm of sixteen, and sang the local secession air that was soon afterward superseded by the Bonnie Blue Flag with her whole soul. The effect was electrical, and in a moment every voice in the room ex cept my own rang out with the southern air. My failure to respond to this outburst of secession sentiment was noted by a young lawyer, who had been my friend and chum until a rivalry for Laura's affections and hand had somewhat cooled our good-fellowship.

Harry Walton stepped up to me, and rather insinuatingly remarked : " Mr. Bryant does not sing this evening. Has he lost his voice ? " " No," I replied ; "but I don't know that tune." " It's one that you'll have to sing before long, and if necessary I'll try and teach it to you," sneered young Walton. " Oh, I'll instruct Law — Mr. Bryant myself," inter rupted Laura, anxious to change a conversation that was becoming of a nature that sometimes in those days led to very serious results. This stumble over my Christian name probably enraged my rival much more than my refusal to join in the secession melody. An expression of trouble passed over his face, as he Caught a Veiled glance the girl at my side cast upon me as she interposed between us. He bit his lip, and remarked coldly, with a forced composure: "Then I leave Mr. Bryant to your instructions, Miss Laura ; but in case you do not succeed — there are other and stronger teachers— = — " " None that you could bring to bear upon me, Mr. Walton," I remarked.

" If Miss Peyton does not succeed, you had better not attempt the task." My rival was about to reply in a tone that might have led to unpleasant results, when the conversation was inter rupted by the entrance of Judge Peyton, the father of my sweetheart, and the company of young people running to him to get his ideas upon the political situation. " Father, you've heard the news ! We're no longer in the United States. We've cut loose from Uncle Sam. Seceded at last ! " cried his son, young Arthur Peyton, with the enthusiasm of twenty. " Yes ; I've expected this for months," returned the judge solemnly, " and feared it ! " " Feared it ?" echoed two or three of the guests. " Feared it," cried his son; " feared the Yankees ? Why Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Georgia — every southern State is with us.

We've all the trump cards in this game ! " " Humph! " returned the judge. "But we haven't played them. We'll all do our 'duty by our State, Arthur ; but I'm afraid there'll be more tears than laughter about this business before it is ended." With those words and a slight sigh, Judge Peyton turned to his study, and after a few moments the company gradually left for their homes. " I shall see your father in a day or two, Laura," I whispered as I bid her good-by. " This political com plication compels me to have no misunderstanding in my relations to you." " You — you know I love you — will love you, no mat ter what happens," returned my fiancee. Then mounting my horse for my short ride to Columbia, I saw Laura watching me as I passed down the moonlit avenue, the girl making a very pretty picture back grounded by her southern home.

Laura Peyton though in some respects a typical southern girl, had little of that languor supposed to be peculiar to tropical loveliness, was no brunette with black lustrous eyes and voluptuous, lazy beauty, but brilliant and blue-eyed, vigorous and direct in movement and mind, and of a beauty that made her a female load-stone to the local beaux. Perhaps from very force of contrast to the languid manners of most of the South Carolina girls about her, she was one of the most popular young ladies in the section of the State near Columbia. It was a short five miles to the capital. I let my horse take his own gait, while I meditated upon the problem before me — that was to win and marry a southern girl from a southern family — from a seceded State, I — a northern man — a Union man, one who might have to meet her relatives even in battle — and this in December of the year 1860, with the passions of that gigantic political volcano seething and struggling and fighting to break out of the crater that had been opened that very day by the secession of South Carolina.

Pondering upon this problem I trotted into the main street of Columbia, which was full of excited people discussing the situation, and as I did so, started and listened. The city bell upon the old market was ringing out joy ous peal upon peal that meant its own and that town's de struction by sword and flame after four years of most miserable horror and bloody war to the American peo ple. The excitement had spread to the negro population. Young Caucus, my body servant, came to me, his eyes rolling and his red hair more frizzled than usual with excitement, for he was a mulatto with that unusual hair in people of his race, that we call brick-red. This gave him a curious made-up appearance, and added a comedy look to the boy even when he was in a rage. As young Caucus, whose services I had hired from his master, Judge Peyton, took charge of my horse, he seemed choking with some extraordinary idea, which had just come into his black brain, and gasped out to me : " 'Skuse me, Massa Bryant, but what you s'pose Massa Abram Lincoln do now dat South Carlina commit 'ces sion — reckon Massa Lincoln hab to commit sucide."

This extraordinary idea of the President elect's political duties made but little impression upon me at the moment. I was too much perplexed at my own position, though I have often laughed at it since. I declined to discuss the matter with young Caucus, and passed into my house, where I spent several wakeful hours that night pondering over love, politics, and patriotism. I had been about five years in the South, having been called there in my profession of civil engineer to assist in laying out the work and building some of the new railroads being constructed in South Carolina and Georgia. I liked the country and its people, and did not wish to leave it — in fact, would not leave it unless I took Laura Peyton to the North with me, as a hostage from the southern people. Yet as I faced the outlook, and thought of having that very day been almost cut in the street by people I had considered as intimates, because they doubted my loyalty to the cause of secession, and remembered the speeches made since Lincoln's election, I could not doubt that my next few months would be unpleasant ones in the Palmetto State, and that my course of true love would run over one of the rockiest beds that was ever invented for that tumultuous and uncertain stream.

Pondering on this problem, I fell asleep, to be aroused next morning by the voice of Tom Baxter, who cried to me in a cheery way, " Got your carpet-bag packed ? " " No ! — what do you mean ? " " Well, you'll have to pack it soon. I mean you and I'll have to go North." Tom was my associate engineer, and, occupying the same house with me, ejaculated his words from the next bedroom, where he was apparently making his morning ablutions. " You've just arrived from Augusta?" asked I. " One hour ago. And they're getting ready to do the same job in Georgia that they did in South Carolina yesterday. Tell you more about it at breakfast," remarked the sententious Tom. Baxter had come from Illinois. Like myself, he saw the storm ahead, though from a different point of view, as he had been for the last few weeks, on the business of the railroad, in Georgia.

He was a hard-thinking fellow, and reasoned upon all subjects, professional and otherwise, with the directness of a mathematician and in a very straight line. I was anxious to get his full views upon our situation, and followed him quickly to our breakfast-room. As I entered, Mr. Baxter was laughing at some remarks of young Caucus, who was waiting at the table. " How you tink, Massa Baxter, de North stan up agin dose ? " exclaimed the negro, giving an excited wave of his napkin through the open window toward three com panies of South Carolina militia that were marching by with true militia irregularity. " Dose sogers go up to settle de Black 'Publicans and dey settle dem aboli tionists d d soon ! " " Give me some eggs ! " said Baxter, choking a laugh. " Some eggs and coffee for me, also, Caucus, and then get out," added I ; " I wish to talk to Mr. Baxter."

" Yes sah ! of course sah ! " muttered the young negro, executing our orders, and then retiring from the room with martial step and a grin of joy, for the military band outside had suddenly struck up, and Caucus was anxious to follow the music, which he did shortly afterward, to gether with half the young negroes of Columbia. " Now," remarked Baxter, as soon as the sound of Cau cus' departing footsteps had died away, "you and I, Lawrence, will have to take a trip north very shortly. I suppose you are aware of that ? South Carolina seceded yesterday. To-morrow it will be Georgia and all the cotton States. And you and I know on which side of the line we ought to be when it comes to fighting." " I shall remain here, at least for the present," I remarked. " So shall I, but I shall sell everything I have and be prepared to leave.

Take my advice, and do the same." " Still, I'm comfortable here ; have succeeded in my profession ; am popular with the people about me." " Popular ? — How long will you be popular if you don't take their side in the coming struggle? Popular? — Doesn't every day show you your popularity is waning ? Popular ? " Here he stopped short, for Caucus came into the room bringing a pretty little envelope addressed to me in a feminine hand. As I tore open the envelope and devoured its contents, Mr. Baxter continued : " Popular — yes, I see, very popular with some one about here. That's why you're so anxious to stay. Well, if I guess right as to who the lady is, I'd risk a good deal to gain that girl, for she's worth winning. I wish you luck ; but all the same, if you remain in this State, you'll have to fight on one side of the line and I on the other, for I tell you that this movement means war !

" "War?" " Certainly ! Isn't that " — here Mr. Baxter got up from his chair, walked round to mine, and whispered in my ear — " armed rebellion to our Government — levying of war upon it right there before our very eyes ? " and he pointed through the window, toward where a portion of the South Carolina militia were marching down the main street of Columbia to take the cars for Charleston, to participate a short time afterward in the bombardment of Sumter. " It's war! " he continued — " miserable, horrible, bloody civil war ! You've got to take your choice — our side or the other ; and if you remain here, it must be the other." "All the same," I replied, " I shall stay here until " " Until you win her ? I wish you luck, my boy ; but she a southern girl and you a northern man — God help you !

" And with this Mr. Baxter turned away, walked out of the room and went to his work at the railroad offices. I remained with a very glum face, which became more gloomy as I re-read the letter my fiancee had just written to me. It was as follows : " 'The Oaks,' ) Columbia, December 21, 1860. J" " Darling : Please come and see papa this very afternoon at the latest. Circumstances that I cannot explain by letter make me ask you as you love me not to delay your interview with my father. To morrow may be too late. Don't fail. " Your Laura." What new complication did this note herald ? Puzzle my brain as I might, I could not guess. Of only one thing was I sure — that was my sweetheart loved me. So despite the clouds that seemed to hang over me, I was, in the elasticity of youth, comparatively happy even on that morning.

But curiosity, added to love, made me hurry what little railroad business I had on my hands, and early in the afternoon I rode out through the main street of Columbia, which was filled with people eagerly discussing the situation, for nearly all business was thrown aside for politics at that time, and after passing by the State lunatic asylum and the beautiful plantations of the Hamptons, Prestons and Singletons, soon found myself at the Avenue of Oaks that led to Judge Peyton's country seat, called after the beautiful trees that embellished it. Before I reached the house, however, I was met by Miss Belle, who came running down the avenue to meet me, a leghorn hat with ribbons floating from it, after the fash ion of the time, in one hand, the other held out to me. In the frank impulsiveness of her nature, she cried, with the very sweet southern accent this young lady possessed, " Laura has just told me all."

"All !" I muttered, astonished at the suddenness of her outburst. " Certainly — all about you're wanting to marry her ! " You see she had to — a girl must confide in some one — no one could keep such a secret — and mother being dead, I took mamma's place — and I'm so glad you're going to join us — be one of us — I always said that Mr. Bryant was too good a man to be one of those awful Black Re publicans — 'deed I did ! " This view of my political ideas being changed by my suit for her sister's hand rather amused me. I remarked : " I have never been a Black Republican — that is, not the kind of a Black Republican you mean." " There's only one kind of Black Republican ! " returned Miss Belle, sententiously. " What kind is that ? " " A bad abolitionist Black Republican. Oh, how I hate 'em. They would destroy all our social happiness.

They would separate us from the servants who love us. Fancy tearing old Mauma Chloe from me whom she loves. I told the poor old creature what the horrid northern wretches wanted to do to her, and she cried all last night. But you're reformed — I know you are — and — you would like to see Laura, I suppose — she rather expects you " — this last with a roguish glance. " She's over there in the garden ! Here, Cæsar ! come and take Mr. Bryant's horse ! " I dismounted, and a black servant leading my nag to the stables, Miss Belle pointed to a white hat seen through the foliage, and cried, " There she is ! Good-by till — after ward, Mr. Reformed Black Republican ! " I hardly heard the last of her speech, as I was rapidly making my way toward my sweetheart, who apparently did not notice my coming.

As seated upon a bench in a little grove of oaks, she held a letter in her hand, though both her eyes were expectantly placed upon the road from Columbia. She had in some manner apparently missed me as I rode by, and was still looking for my coming — I thought with a kind of nervous impatience. A man's vanity is always flattered by the beauty of the woman who loves him ; and in gazing at Laura Peyton I became very vain, for no prettier sight had ever met my eye. Though nearly Christmas, the weather was still mild and warm in this southern latitude, and the girl looked like a summer picture, as, with her white hat trimmed with a dainty ribbon or two thrown upon the bench beside her, and dressed in some light gossamer garment crinolined and puffed out about her, as was the fashion of those days, she leaned forward, all her soul in her eyes, looking the wrong way — for me.

A moment afterward the tableau changed. Her eyes fell upon the letter — a shiver of disgust appeared to run through her. She sprang to her feet impatiently, in her haste permitting a glimpse of a southern foot and ankle that gave me another lover's rapture, and crushed the letter nervously in her hand. Her lips muttered in an excited manner, her eyebrows contracted with a slight frown, and she gave a determined stamp with her little foot. Then she turned her head, the frown changed to a smile, the shadow on her face became sunshine, her lips murmured, " Lawrence ! " — she was in my arms. After a moment she disengaged herself from my em brace, and, affecting lightness, whispered : " I knew you would come. My note insured that. Curiosity as well as love is powerful in man as in woman." " Why were you so anxious for me to see your father this very day ?

" I asked, in reply to this. " This letter ! " she said, glancing at the crumpled paper. "To-night, or at latest to-morrow, Amos Pierson will ask my father for my hand. This is his notification to me of his intention." "Amos Pierson ! " I gasped — "the millionaire cotton merchant of Savannah ? " " Certainly," she replied. " He entertained my father and myself last year when we visited Georgia. I think — I fear — he has some business or financial hold upon my father ! " " You surely do not believe Judge Peyton would coerce you — in such a matter as this ! " " Certainly not ! But Amos Pierson, I can see from his letter, expects in the arrogance of his wealth to win me. Disappointment will make him our enemy and at this moment we need so many friends ! Lawrence, I know his character — beware of Amos Pierson ! "

Chapter II. Amos Pierson

" Beware of Amos Pierson — why ? — because he is my rival ? What do I fear, so long as I have your love ? Laura, why don't you ask me to dread all the suitors for this hand — Harry Walton, for instance?" replied I, seiz ing the fair member she had held out in warning gest ure. " Because Harry Walton is a gentleman — impulsive, but always chivalric, always brave. Brave men are not so much to be dreaded as cowards. They strike fairly to your face — not behind your back. Amos Pierson is one of the kind you feel, but do not see. He will wound you in the back ! " " Pshaw ! I'd much rather have Amos Pierson for a rival for your hand than Harry Walton — fifty is not so much to be dreaded as twenty-five, and I have heard Mr. Pierson 's age stated at about the former figure," laughed I, anxious to relieve the anxiety of my fiancee, though by no means happy to hear of an additional enemy to my wooing, surrounded as it was with so many political obstacles.

" Therefore you understand the reason I wish you to see my father this afternoon— so that Mr. Pierson, when he arrives, will discover that my future station in life is already settled. That " — here she began to blush and falter — "that — I am as surely and as truly yours as if I were already wedded to — you ! " The last " you " was a little gasp, for what man could refrain from sealing such a declaration from the woman he loved ? " So," I replied, " you wish Mr. Pierson to know he has no hope " " At once and forever ! You will find my father, Law rence, in his library. This action of South Carolina has disturbed him very much. Heaven only knows to what it will lead ! " Knowing the house very well, I turned from my sweet heart and found my way to her father, meditating on the consideration of Laura, who, in all our interview, had never mentioned the political troubles that stood in our path almost forcing us asunder ; for my sweetheart's sympathies were all with the South in the struggle, as what southern woman's were not, through that four years of famine, desolation, flame and bereavement, — to the end !

I knew, however, her father would mention the politi cal aspect of our courtship, and was prepared for it. On entering Judge Peyton's library, to my astonishment I found him with the day's papers before him and a suspicious redness about the eyes. He greeted me pleas antly, but rather sadly. " You have been reading the news ? " I ventured to remark, " with a good deal of interest." " With a good deal of sorrow," he replied. "This ordinance of our State legislature is, I feel, perhaps wrong — certainly hasty ; and may bring us more trouble than our politicians reckon. They pass the ordinance, but if it comes to fighting, the people will have to do that, and I have a young boy " — here the judge looked wistfully at the picture of Arthur that hung upon the wall ; then con tinued with a sigh — " and he is anxious to be in the front.

I fear for him. Heaven only knows what secession may bring to my family ! " Here was my opening. I remarked : B HOW I ESCAPED. " It was in regard to your family that I called to speak to you. Miss Laura '' "Ah ! " " I love her, and I have asked her to marry me. She has consented. I have now come to you to ask your approval of my suit." To this the judge did not answer, so I went on and gave him a short history of my courtship of his daughter, stating that our affection was mutual. Here the judge stopped me by remarking, suddenly, " You wish to marry my daughter at this time ? " " As soon as possible ! You know my professional rep utation in the South : that I am as well able to support her as most young men who depend entirely upon their professional exertions." " Yes, I have no doubt of your ability," replied the old gentleman, " as an engineer ; but, though I have every respect for your professional attainments, the peculiar position that you hold in our community makes me hesi tate to give my consent to your proposition that a few months ago I should have been pleased to consider."