Raiding with Morgan by Byron A. Dunn
CHAPTER XX.
CALHOUN AWAKES TO LIFE.
For two weeks Calhoun hovered between life and death; but at last hisrugged constitution conquered. During this time Joyce was unremitting inher attention. "I must save him for the sake of Mark," she would say, "Icannot bear to have his blood on Mark's hands."
In speaking to Joyce's aunt, Matilda Goodsen said: "The poor child willhardly let me do anything; she wants to do it all."
Miss Crawford fretted and fumed, but it did no good. In this Joyce wouldhave her way.
Calhoun's fever had been growing less day by day, and the time came whenit left him, and he lay in a quiet and restful slumber. But his breathingwas so faint, Joyce was almost afraid it was the sleep which precedesdeath.
It was near the close of an August day. The weather had been warm andsultry, but a thunder shower had cooled and cleared the atmosphere, andthe earth was rejoicing in the baptism it had received. The trees seemedto ripple with laughter, as the breeze shook the raindrops from theirleaves. The grass was greener, the flowers brighter on account of thatsame baptism. The birds sang a sweeter song. What is more beautiful thannature after a summer shower!
It was at such a time that Calhoun awoke to life and consciousness. Adelicious lethargy was over him. He felt no pain, and his bed was so soft,he seemed to be resting on a fleecy cloud. He tried to raise his hand, andfound to his surprise he could not move a finger. Even his eyes for a timerefused to open. Slowly his memory came back to him; how in the fierceconflict he tried to break through the line and sought to cut down anofficer who opposed him. Then there came a flash, a shock--and heremembered nothing more. Where was he now? Had he passed through thatgreat change called death? By a great effort he opened his eyes, and wasbewildered. He was in a strange room. By an open window sat a young girl.She had been reading, but the book was now lying idly in her lap, and shewas looking apparently into vacancy. The rays of the setting sun streamedin through the windows, and touched hair and face and clothes with itsgolden beams. Calhoun thought he had never seen a being so lovely; herbeauty was such as he fancied could be found only in the realms above, yetshe was mortal. He could not take his eyes from her. She turned her head,and saw him gazing at her. Uttering a little exclamation of surprise, shearose and came swiftly but noiselessly to his side.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Calhoun whispered, faintly.
"Hush! hush!" she said, in low, sweet tones, "you must not talk. You havebeen sick--very sick. You are better now."
She gave him a cordial. He took it, and with a gentle sigh, closed hiseyes, and sank to sleep again. Before he was quite gone, it seemed to himthat soft, tremulous lips touched his forehead, and a tear-drop fell uponhis cheek. Its memory remained with him as a beautiful dream, and it waslong years before he knew it was not a dream.
Doctor Hopkins was delighted when he called in the evening and learnedthat his patient had awaked with his fever gone, and in his right mind."All that he needs now," he said, "is careful nursing, and he will getwell. But mind, do not let him talk, and tell him nothing of what hashappened, until he gains a little strength."
From that time Calhoun gained slowly, but surely. When he became strongenough to bear it, Joyce told him all that had happened. He could scarcelyrealize that over a month had passed since he had been wounded.
"Then that stand of mine did not save Morgan," said Calhoun, sorrowfully.
"No, he was taken a few hours afterwards," answered Joyce. "He and hisofficers are now in the penitentiary at Columbus."
Calhoun could hardly believe what he heard. "Then we are to be treated asfelons, are we?" he asked, bitterly.
"They are afraid he might escape from a military prison," replied Joyce."But the people are very bitter against him. Some are clamoring that he betried and executed."
"They will not dare do that," exclaimed Calhoun, excitedly.
"No, I do not think there is any danger that way," replied Joyce; "butthey want to keep him safe."
"Well they may, but Morgan will yet make them trouble. No prison will holdhim long."
"There, there, don't let us talk about it any more," said Joyce; "it willworry you back into a fever."
"You have saved my life," said Calhoun, fervently. "How can I ever repayyou for what you have done?"
Joyce did not reply.
Calhoun lay silent for some time, and then suddenly said: "I am one ofMorgan's hated officers, and yet you are caring for me as for a brother.What makes you do it?"
"Why shouldn't I?" said Joyce; "I have a dear brother in the army. I amonly doing by you as I would have him done by, if he should fall wounded.And then--" Joyce stopped; she could not tell him it was her brother whohad shot him.
A great light came to Calhoun. "Joyce! Joyce!" he cried, "I nowunderstand. It was your brother who shot me."
"Oh! forgive him! forgive him!" cried Joyce. "He told me it was to savehis own life that he did it."
"Why, Joyce, there is nothing to forgive. Your brother is a brave, agallant officer. Then he has been here?"
"Yes, and knew you. He bade me nurse you as I would nurse him in likecondition."
"Just like a brave soldier; but are there none who find fault with mybeing here treated like a prince?"
"Yes, one. His name is Andrew Harmon. It was his horse you were ridingwhen you came here. He seems to hate you, and is doing all he can to haveyou taken to Columbus. He says you treated him most brutally when he wascaptured."
"I did kick him," answered Calhoun, laughing; "he was on the groundbellowing like a baby. I never saw a more abject coward. I kicked him andtold him to get up."
"He has a different story," said Joyce, smiling; and then she told thewonderful story of Harmon's capture as related by himself.
"His capacity for lying is equalled only by his cowardice," said Calhoun,indignantly.
"Yet he is a man to be feared," said Joyce, "for he is rich and hasinfluence, although every one knows him to be a coward."
The days that passed were the happiest Calhoun had ever spent. He toldJoyce of his Kentucky home, of his cousin Fred, how noble and true he was,and of his own adventures in raiding with Morgan. She never tired oflistening. Is it strange that these two hearts were drawn close to eachother. They lived in a sweet dream--a dream which did not look to thefuture. But almost unknown to them Cupid had come and shot his shafts, andthey had gone true.
The day came when Calhoun was able to be placed in an easy-chair and drawnto an open window. It was a proud day to him, yet it was the beginning ofsorrow. The Doctor came and congratulated him on his improvement.
"Doctor Hopkins, how can I thank you for your kindness?" he said; "youhave done so much for me."
"You need not thank me, thank that young lady there," replied the Doctor,pointing to Joyce. "She it was who saved your life."
"I know, no reward I could give would ever repay her," answered Calhoun."I can only offer to be her slave for life."
"Your offer is not accepted; you are well aware I do not believe inslavery," replied Joyce, with a merry laugh.
When the Doctor was ready to go, he asked for a private interview withJoyce. It was hard work for him to say what he had to say. He choked andstammered, but at last Joyce understood what he meant. He had promised thegovernment officials to inform them when Calhoun could be moved withoutendangering his life. That time had come. "But," said he, as he noticedthe white face of Joyce, "I shall recommend that he be allowed to remaintwo weeks longer, as there is no danger of his running away in his weakcondition."
But Joyce hardly heard him. "And--and--this means?" she whispered.
"The penitentiary at Columbus."
Joyce shuddered. "And--and there is no way to prevent this?"
"None. God knows I would if I could."
"Thank you, Doctor; I might have known this would have to come, but it isso sudden."
The Doctor went out shaking his head. "I am afraid harm has been done,"
Just as he was getting into his gig to drive away Andrew Harmon cameriding by. He glanced up and saw Calhoun sitting by the window. "So, yourpatient is able to sit up," he exclaimed, with a sneer. "About time hewere in the penitentiary, where he belongs, isn't it?"
"I don't know how that concerns you," replied the Doctor, coldly, as hedrove away.
"Oh ho! my fine fellow. I will show you whether it concerns me or not?"muttered Harmon, looking after him.
That night Harmon wrote to the authorities at Columbus, stating it as hisopinion that there was a scheme on foot to detain Lieutenant Penningtonuntil he was well enough to slip away. He was not aware that DoctorHopkins had reported on the condition of his patient every week, and hadalready sent a letter saying he could be moved with safety, butrecommending he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, on account of hisweak condition. Harmon not only wrote to Columbus, but also to Mr.Crawford, hinting that it was dangerous for his daughter to care forCalhoun longer. "You know," he wrote, "that girls of the age of Joyce areinclined to be romantic."
As for Joyce, when the Doctor left her she sank into a chair weak andfaint. She saw Andrew Harmon gazing up at the window where Calhoun was,and a terror seized her. She now knew that she loved Calhoun, but withthat knowledge also came the thought that her love was hopeless, that evenif Calhoun returned her love, her father would never consent to theirunion. He would rather see her dead than married to a Rebel, especially ahated Morgan raider. Long did she struggle with her own heart, her senseof duty, her ideas of patriotism; and duty conquered. She would give himup, but she would save him.
It was evening before she could muster strength to have the desiredinterview with Calhoun. When she did enter the room it was with a step solanguid, a face so pinched and drawn, that Calhoun stared in amazement.
"Joyce, what is it?" he cried. "Are you sick?"
"Not sick, only a little weary," she answered, as she sank into a chairand motioned for the nurse to leave them. No sooner was she gone thanJoyce told Calhoun what had happened. Her voice was so passionless thatCalhoun wondered if she cared, wondered if he had been mistaken inthinking she loved him.
"Joyce, do you care if I go to prison?" he asked.
"Care?" she cried. "The thought is terrible. You shall not go, I will saveyou."
"Joyce! Joyce! tell me that you love me, and it will make my cell inprison a heaven. Don't you see that I love you, that you saved my poorlife only that I might give it to you? Joyce, say that you love me!"
For answer she sank on her knees by his bedside and laid her head on hisbreast. He put his weak arms around her, and held her close. For a whileshe remained still, then gently disengaging his arms, she arose. There wasa look on her face that Calhoun did not understand.
"The first embrace, and the last," she sighed. "Oh, Calhoun, why did weever meet?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, his lips growing white.
"I mean that our love is hopeless. Father will never consent to ourmarriage. I feel it, know it. Without his consent I shall never marry. Butsave you from prison I will."
"Joyce, you do not love me!" said Calhoun bitterly.
"As my life," she cried.
"Yet you say you can never marry me!"
"Without my father's consent I cannot."
"Joyce, let us not borrow trouble. Even with your father's consent wecould not marry now. I am a prisoner. The war is going on, but it cannotlast forever. When it is over, when peace is declared, I will come to you.Then, and not till then, will I ask your father for your hand. Let us hopethe skies will be brighter by that time--that to be one of Morgan's menwill not be a badge of dishonor, even in the North."
"Oh, Calhoun, if I could only hope! I will hope. Come to me after the waris over. Father's consent may be won. But now the prison, the prison. Imust save you. I have thought it all out."
"How can you save me, a poor, weak mortal, who cannot take a step withouthelp?" asked Calhoun.
"Put you in a carriage to-morrow night and take you where they cannot findyou."
"So soon? The Doctor said he would ask for two weeks. Two more weeks withyou, Joyce--I could afford to go to prison for that."
"Don't talk foolishly. I feel if I don't get you away to-morrow night, Icannot at all."
"But you--will it endanger you, Joyce?"
"Not at all!"
"But how will you explain my disappearance?"
"Suppose you have been shamming, better than we thought you were, and soyou gave us the slip."
"A right mean trick," said Calhoun.
"No, a Yankee trick, a real good one. Now listen, Calhoun, and I will tellyou all about how I am going to get you away. Some six miles from here acolored man lives whom my father has greatly befriended. He will doanything for me I ask. I shall tell him you are a sick soldier, and forgood reasons wish to remain in hiding until you get well."
"Will he know I am one of Morgan's men?" asked Calhoun.
"No, he will think you are a Federal soldier. Calhoun, as much as you mayhate it, you must don the Union Blue."
"That would make a spy of me. No, it wouldn't either, if I kept clear ofany military post."
"That's good. I have a Federal uniform in the house, which will about fityou. A friendless soldier died here a short time ago. We took him in andcared for him during his last sickness. He had been discharged for woundsreceived at Fair Oaks. Here is the discharge. I think it fits you closeenough, so it may be of use to you."
She handed him the discharge; he took it and read: "James Brown, agenineteen; height five feet nine inches; weight one hundred and sixtypounds; complexion dark; hair and eyes black."
"Why, Joyce, with that in my pocket, and wearing a Federal uniform, Icould travel anywhere in the North."
"So I thought. We will cheat that old prison yet. But it is time you wereasleep."
"God bless you, Joyce," replied Calhoun. "Give me a kiss before you go."
She smiled and threw him one as she went out and he had to be content withthat. She had not stopped to consider what the result might be if shehelped Calhoun to escape. Her only thought was to save him from going toprison. To do this she would dare anything.
The colored man of whom she spoke was to be at the farm in the morning todo some work. A fear had seized her that she might be too late. The fearwas well grounded. The authorities at Columbus had resolved to moveCalhoun at once. The request of Doctor Hopkins, that he be allowed toremain two weeks longer, although he said he could be removed withoutdanger, aroused their suspicion. Not only that, but the letter of AndrewHarmon to Mr. Crawford had alarmed that gentleman, and he was already onhis way home.
Abram Prather, the colored man, was seen by Joyce as soon as he made hisappearance.
"Missy Joyce, I jes' do enything fo' yo.' Me an' de ol' woman will keephim all right."
So everything was arranged. Joyce breathed freer, yet she waitedimpatiently for the night.