Chasing an Iron Horse Part 24

"'Bout four miles off, or five miles by the road along the creek," said this Southern "Uncle Sam."

"Do you know if he's living at his place now?"

"He was there three days ago, whan I driv over ta sell him some shotes,"

returned "Uncle Sam." "Reckon he must be there still."

"Humph!" thought Watson; "this fellow hasn't heard anything about the Peyton _fracas_. I'll lose my sight once again."

He clutched George's hand in a helpless fashion, and poured forth a tale of woe. He was blind and poor, he said; he and his nephew (meaning George) were in need of food and shelter.

"I'll sing for you," said George.

"Tarnation pumpkins," cried Uncle Sam; "I hate squalin'. But come in. I never shut my door on anybody."

He opened the door the whole way. The two Northerners and the dog walked into the dazzling light made by a great wood-fire--and confronted five Confederate soldiers and an officer who were toasting their feet at the hearth! They all glanced at the newcomers, who dearly regretted, when too late, that they had entered. The officer stared first at Watson and then at George with the air of a man who is searching for some one. Uncle Sam introduced them to the party in a manner more vigorous than polite.

"Here's a couple o' beggars," he said. "Ma, get 'em somethin' to eat!"

"Ma," who was his wife, came bustling out of the second room, or kitchen, of the cabin. She was red in the face, and of generous proportions.

"Look here, pop," she cried, "do you expect me to cook for a hotel? I've just been feedin' these soldiers, and now you want me to get victuals for beggars."

When the plump hostess saw the blind man, the boy and the dog, her face softened. She went back to the kitchen, and soon returned with some coa.r.s.e but highly acceptable food, which was gratefully eaten by George and Watson.

"Do you two tramp through the country together?" asked the officer. He was addressed by his men as Captain Harris. Every line and feature of his clean-shaven face denoted shrewdness.

"Yes," answered Watson. "My nephew sings--the dog has some tricks--we make a little money--even in war time." He would put the best face possible on this trying situation.

"You have no home?" went on the officer, in a sympathetic voice.

"None."

"Where did you come from before you took to begging?"

Watson hesitated for a second. Then he said: "Lynchburg, Virginia." It was the only place he could think of at that moment, and it seemed far enough off to be safe.

"I spent three weeks in Lynchburg last year," said Captain Harris. "What part of the town did you live in?"

This time George came to the rescue. "On Main Street," he answered. He had known a boy in Cincinnati whose mother had once resided in Lynchburg, and he had heard the lad speak of a Main Street in that town.

"On Main Street," repeated the Captain. Was the look that pa.s.sed quickly across his face one of surprise or disappointment?

"Yes, on Main Street," a.s.serted George. He felt very sure of himself now.

"How near were you to the Sorrel Horse Hotel?" asked the Captain, after a brief pause.

"About two streets away, eh George?" said Watson. He had, very naturally, never heard of the Sorrel Horse, and he knew nothing of Lynchburg, but it would be fatal to show any ignorance on the subject.

"Yes, just about two streets away," agreed the boy.

The men were all sitting near the blazing fire. Suddenly Captain Harris, without saying a word, lifted his right arm and sent his fist flying towards the face of Watson, who sat near him. With an exclamation of anger Watson jumped to his feet, just in time to avoid the blow.

"What do you mean?" he cried, as he glared at his antagonist.

The Captain smiled. He did not seem at all pugnacious now.

"I mean," he answered, "that I have proved my suspicions to be true. I thought you were not blind--and I find that you still have enough sight left to see a blow when it is coming to you!"

Watson could cheerfully have whipped himself for his blunder.

"Further," went on the officer, in a politely taunting tone that was very provoking, "I find that neither you nor the boy ever lived in Lynchburg, for the simple reason that there is no Sorrel Horse Hotel in that place, and there never was!"

How nicely had he planned this little trap! And how foolish the two fugitives felt.

"And now, my dear beggars," went on the Captain, in the same ironical vein, "allow me to say that I don't believe you are beggars at all. I strongly suspect that you are members of this engine-stealing expedition which has come to grief. This afternoon I was sent out from Chattanooga, among others, to scour the country, and it will be my duty to march you there to-morrow morning."

There was a pause painful in its intensity.

"Have either of you got anything to say?" demanded the Captain.

"We admit nothing!" said Watson.

"I'm not surprised," answered the Captain. "Your offense is a hanging one.

But you were a plucky lot--that's certain."

CHAPTER X

FINAL TRIALS

The next morning Watson and George Knight, with the faithful Waggie (who was destined to remain with his master throughout all these adventures, in which he had played his own little part), were taken by the detachment of Confederates to Chattanooga. Here they were placed in the jail, and here also, in the course of a few days, were brought Andrews and the other members of the ill-fated expedition. For they were all captured, sooner or later, as might have been expected. The whole South rang with the story of the engine chase, and every effort was made to track and capture the courageous Northerners.

After a stay of several weeks in Chattanooga the party were taken by railroad to Madison, in Georgia, for it was feared that General Mitch.e.l.l was about to take possession of the former place. In a few days, however, when the danger had pa.s.sed, they were returned to Chattanooga. It was not until September of 1863 that this city fell into the hands of a Union force.

Of the movements and separation of the prisoners after their return to Chattanooga, or of the experiences of some of them in Knoxville, it is not necessary to make detailed mention. Andrews, after a trial, was executed in Atlanta as a spy, dying like a brave man, and seven of his companions, condemned by a court-martial, shared the same fate. It was the fortune of war. George could never dance, as he had promised, at his leader's wedding.

Let us change the scene to the city prison of Atlanta, where the remaining fourteen members of the expedition were to be found in the following October. Among them were Watson, George Knight, Jenks and Macgreggor.

Waggie, too, was still in evidence, but he would have found life rather dreary had not the kind-hearted jailer allowed one of his family to take the dog many a scamper around the city.

"Poor Andrews," said Watson, one afternoon, "it is hard to realize that he and seven others of us have gone."

The party were occupying a well-barred room on the second floor of the prison. This second floor comprised four rooms for prisoners, two on each side of a hallway. In the hallway was a staircase which led to the first story, where the jailer and his family had their quarters. Outside the building was a yard surrounded by a fence about nine feet high, and here and there a soldier, fully armed, was on guard.

"I don't want to be doleful, boys," said Macgreggor, "but I think we will soon follow Andrews. As the days rolled on and we heard no more of any trial or execution I began to hope that the Confederate Government had forgotten the rest of us. I even thought it possible we might be exchanged for the same number of Confederates in Northern prisons, and thus allowed to go back to our army. But I've kept my eyes and ears open--and I have now become anxious."

"Why so?" asked George. The boy looked thin and very pale, after his long confinement.