The Spy Of The Rebellion Part 30

It was on a beautiful morning in the early part of the month of April, 1862, when a lady, mounted upon a handsome and spirited black horse, and accompanied by a young and intelligent-looking negro, also excellently mounted, rode out of the city of Richmond, apparently for the purpose of enjoying a morning ride. Provided with the necessary pa.s.sports, they experienced no difficulty in pa.s.sing the guards, and after a short ride found themselves in the open country beyond the city.

The lady was young, handsome and apparently about twenty-five years of age. Her complexion was fresh and rosy as the morning, her hair fell in flowing tresses of gold, while her eyes, which were of a clear and deep blue, were quick and searching in their glances. She appeared careless and entirely at ease, but a close observer would have noticed a compression of the small lips, and a fixedness in the sparkling eyes that told of a purpose to be accomplished, and that her present journey was not wholly one of pleasure.

After leaving the city the colored attendant spurred to her side, and then, putting spurs to their horses, they broke into a swift canter.

Their road lay along the river bank, which here led in a south-easterly direction. Turning to the negro at her side, the lady remarked:

"Now, John, we have a ride of ten miles before us, and we must be at Glendale as early as possible."

"All right, missus," rejoined her sable companion, "dese hosses will take us through in good shape, I know."

They followed the course of the stream, whose waters glistened in the rays of the morning's sun like polished silver. On either side the road was fringed with a growth of cottonwood trees, that cast a grateful shade along their path, while the cool breezes of the rippling river rendered their ride a most delightful one indeed. But as they sped along the most casual observer would have noticed from the expression of their faces that their ride was being undertaken for other purposes than pleasure.

The riders pressed on, scarcely slackening their speed until in the near distance could be seen the tall spire of the single church in the pleasant little village of Glendale. They now drew rein and brought their smoking steeds to a slow walk, and riding leisurely onward, they stopped before a neat little inn located on the outskirts of the town.

An old, white-headed negro took their horses and led them away, while the landlady, a neat and tidy-looking matron, wearing widow's weeds, met the lady at the door, and cordially welcomed her into the house.

"Here, Jennie," she called to her daughter, a trim little girl of twelve years, "show this lady to her room."

Following the little girl, the lady was conducted into a cool and pleasant little parlor, with windows opening upon the garden, and through which came the fragrant breath of roses in full bloom.

Scobell accompanied the old man with the horses into the stable-yard, where he a.s.sisted in caring for the heated animals.

"I dun spose you's on de way to Yu'ktown?" queried the old darky, who was rubbing vigorously away upon the limbs of the glossy black horse.

After waiting a short time, and hearing no response, he added:

"What'd you say? dis yer hoss is fidgettin' aroun' so I didn't har you."

"I didn't say anything," responded his companion good-naturedly, but in a tone that plainly indicated his intention not to submit himself to the pumping process at the hands of his garrulous friend.

"I tought you hearn what I dun axed you," replied the old man, a little taken aback by the cool demeanor of his new acquaintance.

Scobell, however, industriously worked away at his own horse and said nothing.

"Well," said the old darky after another pause, and apparently communing with himself--"it am a fac' dat now an den you meets people dat ain't got de cibbleness to answer a question--nor de grit to tell a feller 'tain't nun o' his business; but dey jes let on like dey didn't har wat you sed--wen all de time dey kin har jes as well as I kin."

Still there was no satisfactory response, and at last the old man blurted out again:

"Now I dun spec' it am nun ob Uncle Gallus's bizness were dese folks am a goin', but Jemima! I didn't tink it any harm to ax. Folks dat knows Uncle Gallus aint afeared tu tell him nuffin, coz dey knows he dun got a mitey close head when it am needcessary."

The old man was none other than the veritable old Uncle Gallus, whose experience in the South seemed to be very different from the easy life he had led as the house servant of Mrs. Morton. How he came into this position I am unable to say, but here he was, and the same smile of good-nature irradiated his face, as when his way of life was pleasant, and his duties lighter. Perhaps, it would be as well to state here, that the two persons already mentioned were Mrs. Carrie Lawton, a female operative on my force, and John Scobell, who has figured before in these pages. These two persons had been for a time employed in Richmond, and were now endeavoring to effect their journey North.

After finishing the last remark, Uncle Gallus straightened himself up and stood erect, with the air of a man who had been unjustly injured, and who was disposed to vindicate himself now and there.

"I tell you, uncle," finally replied Scobell, "there are times when one must be careful what you say, and who you say it to."

"Dat am a fac'!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old man.

"Now, if I knowed you was all right," Scobell continued, "I might talk, but 'tain't smart to tell your business to strangers."

"Dat am a fac', young man," observed Uncle Gallus, shaking his head with a knowing look; "but den I spose you's a friend to Uncle Abe, ain't you now?" he queried.

"And if I am," said Scobell, "what do you want?"

"Light and Liberty," replied the old man impressively, "and fo' de L'ud I b'lieve de day am nigh when it am a comin'."

At these words, Scobell stepped forward and said in a low voice:

"Do you belong to the League?"

"I does," answered Uncle Gallus; "I dun jined it in dis berry place."

"How often do you meet?" inquired Scobell.

"We meets ebery two weeks, down at Uncle d.i.c.ky Ba.s.sett's--he libs on de bluff ob de ribber 'bout a mile furder down de road to'rds Wilson's Landin'."

"How far is it to Wilson's landing?" asked Scobell, who, finding that Uncle Gallus was a member of the League, was now no longer loth to talk with him.

"A little grain de rise ob twenty mile," replied the old man.

"About sundown, then," said Scobell, "these horses must be saddled and ready for the missus and me, for we must be at the landing before midnight."

"All right," rejoined Uncle Gallus, "dey'll be ready when yu want 'em."

"See heah now, is yure name John?" suddenly asked the old man, as if an idea had just occurred to him.

"Yes, that's what they call me."

"An' you c.u.m frum Richmun' dis mo'nin?"

Scobell nodded.

"An' dat young leddy am gwine to meet somebody, mebbe her husband, at de landin'?"

"Yes," said Scobell; "but how do you know these things? Has anybody been here to see you?"

"Yah! Yah!" chuckled the old man. "I dun tole you dat folks as knowed Uncle Gallus dun often come ter see him. I dun knowed you all de time, when you fust come--in fac', I was 'spectin' you and de missus all de mawnin'."

"Was the landlady looking for us too?" inquired Scobell.

"She knowed you was a comin'," replied Uncle Gallus; "dah was a gem'man heah las' night, as talked about you to her, an' lef' a note fur de lady."

"Is the landlady all right?" asked Scobell.

"True to de core," affirmed Uncle Gallus emphatically; "more'n one poor feller as 'scaped from Richmun' hes foun' a good bed an' supper at de 'Glen House.'"

"Well," said my operative, "you can finish your work here; I have an errand or two for the missus, and I must go and attend to them before dinner."

So saying, he started for the house, leaving Uncle Gallus to water and feed the horses, which had now sufficiently cooled, and were enjoying their needed rest.