DMCAN ADAIR:
OR,
CAPTURED IN ESCAPING.
A
STORY OF ONE OF MORGAN'S MEN.
BY
Mrs. JANE T. H. CROSS.
MAOON, GA.:
BURKE, BOYKIN & COMPANY.
1864.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by
BURKE, BOYKIN & COMPANY,
in the office of the Clerk of the District Court of Southern Georgia.
CHAPTER I.
THE SURPRISE.
At the close of a day in mid spring, when the dry
sheath had scarcely yet fallen from the green leaf, a
band of Confederate horsemen were seen approaching
a village in Middle Tennessee. The horses struck
their feet out in that half desperate, uncertain way,
that indicates a struggle between the spirit within
and the weary limbs without. They had evidently
had hnrd traveling, as had the men too; but the
human will was triumphant, and gibe and gay
repartee passed from side to side, as they journeyed
on. These were men who had t>ecome so familiar
with Death, Danger, and Fatigue, that they had
formed a jesting acquaintanceship with them.
As they neared the village, both horses and riders
seemed to pluck up new spirit; the horses, because
they felt, with their instinctive sagacity, that they
were coming to the end of the day's travel; the
riders, in anticipation of the welcome which they
were soon to receive from glancing eyes, and from
waving handkerchiefs, filling the air with the delicate
perfumes of the toilette.
These gay anticipations were not disappointed, and
the wearied soldiers felt compensated for their toils,
when they saw at the doors, at the windows, on the
sideways, and even in the streets, the crowds of
crying, laughing, sobbing women, praying Heaven
4
DUNCAN ADAIR.
to bless them, hailing them as their deliverers,
showering boquets upon them, and hastening with
the busy feet of joy to bring forth every delicacy
that their homes afforded. If there is a bliss on
earth, that might mingle with the bliss of heaven
and claim affinity, it is that of the soldier, who feels
that in entering a town, he takes possession, not of
the houses only, but of the very hearts of the people.
" When the ear hears him, it blesses him, and when
the eye sees him it gives witness to him, because he
delivers the poor that cry, and the fatherless, and
him that hath none to help him. The blessing of
him that was ready to perish comes upon him.'7
The leader of these troops did not differ in dress
or military ornament from the men by whom he was
surrounded; but, even among that band of heroes,
he was distinguished by the elegance of his form and
features. He was not fashioned after the model of
the stern, stout Roman, but of the joy-breathing
Greek; and on looking at him one might fancy
Themistocles with fair, open brow, gazing over the
straits of Salamis. The features were chiseled to
delicacy, the expression bespoke a spirit in unity,
with nature; every thing was bright around him,
and the glance from his quick but not restless eye,
" Made sunshio© in a shady place."
Altogether, he was such a one -as to call up in a
musing mind, the thought: u God has formed that
man to noble purposes. He has endowed him with
such graces as involve a solemn responsibility."
He was mounted upon a black mare, made as even
THE SURPRISE.
5
an untutored eye might see, for swiftness. The
diamond pin upon his bosom seemed playing with
the rays of the declining sun, as the chieftain turned,
from time to time, to speak to the young man who
rode beside him. As they entered the town, he
observed to his companion: "If we finish this expe¬
dition, as we hope. Adair, it will be the most brilliant
exploit of the war."
" No doubt of its success, Colonel. When were
Morgan's men known to fail?"
This reply, uttered in a tone of confidence, was
made by the young man to whom we have referred,
as riding beside the commander. His age would not
have numbered more than twenty years, yet in
guessing, one would have added to it three or four
years more. He was more robust than his superior
officer, and not so handsome. He bore himself with
an air of self-possession that mingled with indif¬
ference. Hi^ lips unclosedfl&ut slightly when he
spoke, yet showed two #ows of large white teeth
firmly set. The lines aboiu me lower part of the
face were expressive of great determination; and
there was meditation in the serious, dark grey eyes.
He held himself erect, and breathed with the full
inspiration of one whose blood drinks eagerly the
living principle.
The first rush of welcome being over, sentinels
were placed on every road, and our horsemen were
scattered about the town to enjoy its abundant hospi¬
tality.
Duncan Adair found a home for the night among
friends, and after the women of the house had care-
A*
6
DUNCAN ADAIR.
fully tried to feed him to death at the supper table,
they all took their places around the fire, to listen to
the recital of his adventures. Never did Desdemona
listen to Othello more enchained ! Never did her
heart throb with so exultant a joy, for hers was the
love of the individual; theirs, the higher love of
country. Thus the young soldier, forgetful of his
jaded condition, kept his audience until the small
liours of the night, and then, being conducted to his
room, he threw himself upon his comfortable bed,
and was soon lost in that oblivion which we often
find to be one of Heaven's best gifts.
The early grey of morning had not yet begun to
change to red, when the over-wearied soldiers were
aroused from their slumbers, to be told that they
were surrounded by "the enemy. In an instant, every
man was on his feet catching up his weapons. Alas,
it was too late! The Yankees, led by a renegade
Tennesseean, bad gawgfBd entrance to the town, and
their numbers pouring in, left nothing to our brave
men but to make their escape as best they could.
The gallant leader is entrapped, but not secured.
The word for the future—the time, the place—is
given to the men, and they disperse. Our young
Themistocles, no longer with smiling eye, looks over
the straits of Salamis. The Persian has him at ad¬
vantage. He pursues him—he calls to him to sur¬
render. Shot after shot whistles by his ear; but
Themistocles is used to such music. He utters no
word, but turning on his flying horse, so as to face
his pursuers, he draws a pistol, and sends back a bul¬
let that brings his unworthy foeman, sorely wounded,
to the ground.
in the penitentiary.
7
In the meantime, Duncan Adair is dressed in citi¬
zen's clothes and down stairs. The lady of the bouse
is weeping and wringing her hands. " Oh, what
shall we do ? " she exclaims.
" Wave your handkerchief to them ! " said Dun¬
can. ""Oh, no I" she replied, uI cannot! I cannot
wave my handkerchief to the Yankees!"
Duncan caught up a handkerchief, put it into her
hand, and said : " Wave it and we are safe! " She
waved it with a burning cheek, muttering to herself:
" For the safety of our soldiers, }Tes; for myself,
never I11 While she waved the pocket handkerchief,
Duncan coolly walked out of the back door, mounted
a horse and rode leisurely out of town.
CHAPTER II.
IN THE PENITENTIARY.
It was nearly dark when a solitary horseman ap¬
proached a country tavern by the road side. His
horse was evidently fagged out, and the rider threw
himself from the saddle, as if he were glad to rest.
As the jolly tavern-keeper approached the tfaveler,
he said:
"You are rather too fast, my friend. We have no
more room for any one to night."
" But, my dear sir, " replied the traveler, " look at
my condition ; it is impossible for me to go further.
Look at my jaded horse!"
" I am very sorry, sir ; but every bed is occupied."
8
DUNCAN ADAIR.
"I do not care for a bed, I can sleep on the floor;
only let my horse be attended to. To finish the mat¬
ter, I am going to stay here to-night; so nothing
more need be said on the subject."
Saying this, the young man moved toward the
door.
"Stop, sir," said Boniface, "let me know who
you are that speak like an English lord, and take
possession of my house, without leave or license. I
can tell you that I am master of my own premises;
and I am not in the humor to be trifled with either ;
I've been ' tigerated ' enough lately."
The young man walked up to him, and said in a
low voice : " I am Duncan Adair, a Iventuckian ; I
belong to Morgan's command. Our forces were scat¬
tered at Lebanon, and I am trying to make my
escape."
The tavern-keeper grasped his hand. " Come in !
come in, sir I You shall stay if my wife and I have
to sleep on the floor. You are welcome, sir; wel¬
come to everything in my house 1 Here, boy! come
quick! take this horse; rub him down, let him get
cool, feed him well! Put him in Yorick's stall! you
hear ? "
The servant, who was just at hand, answered:
" Yes, sah ! " and was soon leading the horse around
to the stable. As he went along, he muttered to
himself: " Dar one dollar I make out dat Mr. Duncan
Adair ! He tink nobody hear 'em say he one Mor¬
gan's men ; but I tell you dis nigga know what time
o' day it is—he keep bofe eyes open. I go down to
de Federal camp now, and form dose geramen of de
IN THE PENITENTIARY.
9
fac. Ah, de better time a comin' mighty fas ! We
hab de ' glorious Union,"' den dis nigga be free, own
all dis plantation, and Mr. Burton's fine house on de
hill! Den I walk about wid my blue coat lace over
wid gole, my sword by my side, my cap widdatgole
ting on it, and my cav'lry boots on. Den when I go
down to Nashville, I'll show 'em dat dis neighbor¬
hood is consid'able of a sea port."
In the meantime, Duncan Adair bad entered the
house ; and when the landlord had whispered to his
wife, that they were entertaining one of Morgan's
men, everything was put in motion, to prepare for
him the most savory supper.
Supper being ended, a young physician who board¬
ed in the house, invited Duncan to share his bed.
The offer being accepted, they proceeded at once to
their sleeping room, and Duncan, having deposited
his pistols beneath his pillow, threw himself upon
the feather bed, and ever down sinking through the
regions of dreams, was at last lost in the profoundest
depths of slumber. At midnight, he was awakened
by a glare of light in his face. Opening his eyes,
he beheld the room filled with Yankee officers and
soldiers.
" What is the matter? " he asked.
He was answered: " One of Morgan's men is in
this house, and we are in search of him."
" One of Morgan's men !" he exclaimed, in appa¬
rent surprise, "where is he?" At the same time,
thinking of his pistols, and fearing they might betray
him from beneath his pillow, he carelessly threw up
his arm, so as to conceal them effectually.
10
DUNCAN ADAiK.
One of the officers replied to his question: "That
is just what we wish to discover. It must be either
you or this gentleman in bed with you."
" You must be joking," replied Duncan, " to pre¬
tend to take either of us for one of Morgan's men.
Do we present a very warlike appearance ? "
"I can't say that you do," answered the officer,
" but who is that young gentleman in bed with you ? "
" I am Dr. Garvin," replied the young physician;
" I practice in this neighborhood, and board at this
house."
" And who is this other gentleman ? "
" My name," answered Duncan, "is John Green ;
I am collector for a mercantile house in Louisville,
and came into this neighborhood two weeks ago."
" Are you the son of Mr. Henry Green, of Louis¬
ville?" "No, sir; I am the son of Mr. Joshua
Green, who lives on Walnutf^reet."
"Ah, yes," rejoined the officer, "I know that
family also. Where are your sisters now, Mr.
Green? "
"Julia is at home, sir, and Mary is on a visit to
Cincinnati." By a wonderful chance, he had struck
both names.
" Are you clerk for Mark & Downs? " " No, sir,
I am clerk at Mr. Nabb's establishment."
" Ah, yes. Whose black horse is that I see in the
stable, very much jaded?"
" That is mine, sir," answered Dr. Garvin, " I was
called to see a patient at some distance this morning,
and have had a weary ride—so much the worse for
being awakened in the middle of the night! "
IN" THE PENITENTIARY.
11
"Sorry to have disturbed you, sir; but it is all
the fault of this rebellion ; if your people had been
quiet, they never would have been disturbed. They
have no one to blame but themselves. Whose bay
horse is that in the stable ? "
" That," responded Duncan, " is one I borrowed a
few days ago, from Mr. McGuider, to ride home with
some young ladies, and I have not yet returned him
to his master;"
" Whose boots are these I see in the room?" " They
are mine," responded Dr. Garvin.
" Why did you buy cavalry boots ? "
"Because I could find no others at the time ? "
" I see several other pairs of boots and shoes in the
room—whose are they ? "
" They are all mine, sir," answered Dr. Garvin,
" except one pair that belong to Mr. Green."
" You have quite a number."
"Yes," rejoined the Doctor, dryly.
" Should think you'd find them troublesome."
• " Not at all."
At length the officer said: "Well, Mr. Green, I
see no reason to doubt that you are the person whom
you represent yourself to be. However, it will be
necessary for you to accompany us to Gallatin,
whence we may possibly send you back to Louis¬
ville."
" I think it a very hard thing," rejoined Duncan,
" that a peaceable man should be aroused from his
bed at midnight, and forced to get up and go
wherever a band of strolling soldiers may choose to
send him."
12
DUNCAN ADAIR.
" All the fruits of the rebellion," replied the offi¬
cer 5 "I have a comfortable home of my own, and
enjoy a quiet rest as much as any man ; yet, I am
obliged to spend sleepless nights and toilsome days,
and such will be the case until the very seed of the
rebels is crushed out from the face of the earth."
While this conversation was proceeding,. Rosa Lin¬
ton, the bright-eyed daughter of the host, was listen¬
ing at the bottom of the stairs, that she might instruct
the family how to corroborate the story of the Con¬
federate soldier. When he reached the rooms below,
it was quite an established fact as to who he was.
Turning to the officer, he said : " May I be per¬
mitted to take a glass of buttermilk before leaving?''
The officer may have thought it a strange taste in
a Southern man to make him desire buttermilk at
midnight. However, he answered, "Certainly," and
Duncan turned to Rosa and asked her to get it for
him. Following her into the dining room, he asked
her to have his pistols and horse taken care of until
lie could get them. The warm-hearted creature pro¬
mised all he asked, and then, with tears in her eyes,
shook hands with him, saying: "Good-bye; I wish
the Yankees were all dead ! "
Mrs. Linton said : " Farewell, Mr. Green. May
heaven bless you !" and the old tavern-keeper gave
his hand a hearty grip without speaking a word.
How our country holds all her children pressed close
together in her arms!
After several hours, the military party arrived at
Gallatin—twenty men escorting poor Duncan. When
the breakfast hour came, he walked in, and with an
IN THE PENITENTIARY.
13
air of nonchalance took bis seat. Just then some
slight commotion at the door announced an addition
to their company. "What was the dismay of Duncan,
on looking up, to recognise in the Yankee uniform a
man whom he had once knocked down on the streets
of Louisville for insulting a lady.
The man whose eye gleamed with triumph, walked
up and presented his hand, saying: " How are you,
Mr. Adair ? " Duncan saw, at once, that his impro¬
vised play was over; but, turning from the man
with superb disdain, he said to the officer who had
arrested him : " Colonel, let me speak with you a
f6w moments in the next room." When they were
alone, he said : " I have been deceiving you. I am
one of Morgan's men; my name is Duncan Adair;
dispose of me as you see proper."
The Colonel replied with some feeling: "Really,
sir, I am sorry. My duty compels me to send you
on to Nashville. But," he continued after a mo¬
mentary pause, " we do not come down here as ene¬
mies; we only wish the Southern people to respect
the United States Government. You will not object
to taking the oath of allegiance ? "
" I certainlj* shall object, sir, and do."
"But why?"
" Because I have nothing to do with that Govern¬
ment; and nothing more to say to your proposition."
So saying, Duncan drew himself up to his full height,
and buttoning his coat around him, prepared to
leave the rogm.
" Stop a moment, Mr. Adair," said the officer.
" Your Southern blood is very hot; but I like your
B
14
DUNCAN ADAIR.
spunk. However, I can modify that oath so that
you can have no possible objection to it."
" I shall take it, sir," replied Duncan, "in no man¬
ner, shape nor form. Do your duty ! "
Duncan was sent to Nashville. The Provost Mar¬
shal asked a single question: " Who is he ? " " One
of Morgan's men." " Take him to the Penitentiary."
The Penitentiary had not yet become familiar to us
as a place made sacred by its association with some
of the bravest hearts, with some of the noblest and
purest natures that have blest our earth.
Formerly we have looked upon that Penitentiary
at Nashville with a sorrowing pity for the crimes of
our race; henceforth, if we should tread its pave¬
ments, it will be with a thrilling admiration for the
patriots and martyrs who have suffered there. Our
Savior made an instrument of disgrace the glory of
the world. Some of His followers, with solemn
reverence be it spoken, have made places allotted to
crime, holy, by prayerful breathings from undefiled
lips.
When Duncan entered the stone portal of the Peni¬
tentiary, he felt as if a blight and shame had fallen
upon him. He muttered to himself between his
clenched teeth: " I will not stay here; I will
escape from this place."
preparatory to leave.
15
CHAPTER III.
PREPARATORY TO LEAVE.
Duncan had been two weeks in prison. Two weeks
shut up in inactivity, separated from the sympathy
of friends and from the joy of companionship, hear¬
ing every day from our enemies the most dispiriting
accounts of our cause. As the light ship which was
wont to fly before the winds, when suddenly be¬
calmed in mid ocean, lies and rocks herself with
uneasy, unavailing motion, so dwelt his soul in the
midst of this weary stillness.
One morning he paced the long gloomy passage
with irrepressible restlessness, with infinite yearnings
toward the outer world. He thought to himself:
"Why can I not walk forth as at other times? Those
iron bars stifle me, I cannot breathe! Why can I
not walk down the stairs and out the door into the
world? Those miserable wretches with their bayo¬
nets prevent me. Has my arm lost its strength ?
Could I not dash them to the earth? But then there
are others and others who would overpower me, and
here I am unarmed, powerless as Sampson without
his locks. My very heart withers in this prison. O
for a mouthful of free air ! For the sight, if but for
a single moment, of something belonging to the
woods! " The last words he uttered aloud, and as
he turned it seemed as if Diana had heard the wish
and had come in person to answer it. There stood
before him a young girl—she might be sixteen—
16
DUNCAN ADAIR.
neither bold nor bashful. She was straight as the
branches of the wahoo, and the open gaze of her grey
blue eye was as quiet as that of the young deer that
has never yet heard the sound of the huntsman's
horn. Her light brown hair was caught up in a knot
at the back of her head, only a tiny irrepressible curl
fell on one temple She was robed in silk, the color
of the spring leaves, a white scarf encircled her form,
and the heron's plume in her hat drooped over her
cheek and heightened the delicacy of her complexion.
A half blown rose was fastened by the brooch which
confined her collar. Above this arose her neck,
white and round.
Duncan's eye took in a vision at a glance. He
paused. What man does not pause in the presence
of a pure and beautiful girl ? An elderly lady whom
he had not at all noticed, stepped forward and ad¬
dressed him : " Are you a prisoner, sir ? "
" I am, Madam.''
"Are you one of Morgan's men?"
" Yes, Madam ; rny name is Adair."
The lady introduced herself—Mrs. Murray. Then
turning, introduced several young ladies who accom¬
panied her. Duncan saw no one but Diana in her
green robe. Last of all the lady said: "My niece,
Miss Trousdale."
"We have come," Mrs. Murray continued, "to
see you and the rest of the prisoners. We have taken
the liberty of bringing you some delicacies, thinking
they may be acceptable in a prison." When turning
to the Diana she said: " Pauline, my dear, tell the
servant to bring up the basket."
PREPARATORY-TO LEAVE.
17
Duncan listened eagerly for the sound of her voice.
It completed the enchantment. The music echoed
far down through the chambers of his heart.
The other prisoners were called in. The hall was
filled with ladies and gentlemen, some standing, some
sitting upon chairs, some upon a cot that stood in a
corner, some upon the window sill, but all talking
cheerfully, even merrily, discussing the merits, or
rather the demerits of their enemies, with mingled
laughter and abuse.
The ladies, to enliven the prisoners, gave them
amusing accounts of the occupation of Nashville by
the Yankees. Among other things, Pauline Trous¬
dale said laughingly : " One of their soldiers threat¬
ens to kill me before he returns North."
" To kill you /" exclaimed Duncan ; and he fixed
his eye upon her with a glance of wonder. To him
it was incomprehensible, not only that any one should
threaten to kill her, but that the idea of death could
be in an}7- way connected with her.
The forenoon passed rapidly away. The ladies
arose to depart. The half-blown rose on Pauline's,
bosom became unfastened, and fell to the floor. Dun¬
can picked it up, and said to her in a low and hurried
tone : " May I keep it ? "
" O, certainly I" she replied, " I will send you a
large bouquet to-morrow that will serve to make your
room look more cheerful."
The answer was very kind, but he did not like it-
It was too frank, too unembarrassed.
''You will come again,, perhaps, sometime," he re¬
joined, "-and bring me something to read to beguile
B*
18
DUNCAN ADAIR.
the tedious hours." He had read enough of the heart
of woman to know that the surest way to interest
her is'to make her feel that she is doing you a favor.
Duncan was once more left alone. He stood, look¬
ing upon the bud that was still in his hand. From
its fragrant leaves a rosy mist came forth and envel¬
oped him. Through this delicious cloud were seen
air castles, all resplendent, fair green forests, enchant¬
ing vistas, fairy dells, gurgling waterfalls, flowers,
dew-drops, birds—all that makes paradise. And
moving everywhere through the scene, encircled by
a halo, was the form of Pauline Trousdale. " Fool
that I ami" at last he exclaimed. "She cares
nothing for me! How unconcerned she was when
she gave me the rose-bud. She looked upon it as. a
gift of no importance ; it was bestowed upon a sol¬
dier—a prisoner—and not upon me—Duncan Adair.
Of course, she cares nothing for me—how could she?
No girl of any sense would fall in love in two hours
with a stranger; and no man of any sense would fall
in love in two hours, and yet that is just what I have
done; but I am a simpleton, a blockhead. O, if I
were only free, and on my good horse once more, I
might then do some deed that would make me worthy
of such a woman. I will be free I I will make the
attempt to get out of here if it costs me my life t But
then I must not think of that girl—perhaps she loves
another I know nothing of her—I believe rny
imprisonment has made me weak. In other times I
have looked upon hundreds of beautiful women,-
without being so touched. I must discourage this
folly." So saying to himself, he threw the rose-bud
PREPARATORY TO LEAVE.
19
■upon the window-sil], and walked away. When he
had reached the door, he paused—turned—went back
to the window—took up the bud, and, placing it in
his bosom, buttoned his coat tightly over it. So much
for the resolutions of man !
A few mornings after, a soldier announced to Dun¬
can that Mrs. Murray wished to see him. As he
proceeded to what might be called the prison recep¬
tion room, he thought to himself, " Mrs. Murray !
is that all ? " and he felt his heart beating violently
against the rose-^ud.
The glimpse of a white dress through the open
door-way re-assured him. There was Pauline, more
lovely than ever—an angel in muslins. It was use¬
less debating the question with his heart. Her face
undid all his arguments. She arose to meet him,
provokingly self-possessed, and expressing her plea¬
sure like a child. She had brought him a book.
The more he talked with her the more he was
impressed with the simplicity and earnestness of her
character. Her heart seemed to him like a deep
lake, clear to the very bottom.
After awhile, she said to him: "You do not look
so cheerful as you did the other morning. Do they
keep you a very close prisoner here ? "
Duncan looked around to see that none of the Yan¬
kees were very near, and then answered in a cautious
voice: " Not particularly; but I pine for freedom ;
this prison life kills me; I shall make my escape."
" O," she exclaimed. " that will be delightful!
How will you do it?"
He answered; " There is a window down stairs,
20
DUNCAN ADAIR.
in whicli I have at different times loosened all the
fastenings in the inside, so that they can be easily
removed. But one obstacle remains to my opening
the window, that is a strong bolt upon the outside
which must be drawn back. That must be done the
night I make my escape, otherwise it will be discov¬
ered in the morning and re-fastened, and we shall be
subjected to severer imprisonment. It is difficult to
approach the window, even at night, because a sen¬
tinel stands near it. That is the first obstacle. The
second is the sentinel at the head of the stairs, who
would prevent my going down. Among these men,
however, there is one who is disposed to be friendly
to me. Sometimes he is placed there as sentinel, and
I think I could prevail upon him to let me pass. If
I only knew the night he would be stationed there,
and could have the bolt withdrawn the same night,
everything might be accomplished; for, although in
jumping from the window I must attract the atten¬
tion of the sentinel, yet it will be so sudden and
unexpected that I think, if the night is darkt I can
elude him."
"Perhaps I can assist vou," said Pauline.
" You!"
"Yes; why not ? "
"Do you suppose I would implicate you in an
affair of that kind ? "
" There would be no danger to me."
Duncan looked up into her candid eyes and smiled,
saying: " What do you propose ? "
"If you could let me know the night your friend
will stand guard, I think I know a man on the other
PREPARATORY TO LEAVE.
21
side of the river who will come and withdraw the
bolt. He will then direct you to my father's house.
My father and mother are both absent now in Ken¬
tucky, where we expect to spend the summer, but
my aunt there, Mrs. Murray, has the care of the
house in their absence, and no Confederate soldier
was ever unwelcome at my father's. Now you see
there is no danger to me. Do let me have the pleasure
of feeling, that if I cannot fight myself, I have at
least helped a soldier to the field."
" I am not so sure but that you might fight. There
is a good deal of calm resolution in your face."
" We have to learn to be resolute now. Death is
no longer terrible when contrasted with subjugation.
But what do you say to my plan ? "
" Suppose the Yankees should learn that you had
engaged the man to withdraw the bolt ? "
" They dare not take my head off."
" They might imprison you."
" I should not care for that. I could not fight if I
were out of prison ; and perhaps can serve my coun¬
try better in prison than anywhere else."
" You area brave girl! "
" Not braver than others around me. There is not
a girl in our neighborhood who would not be delighted
to have the opportunity of assisting one of Mor¬
gan's men. This affair, however, requires no courage.
The man whom I shall employ is a true Southerner,
and a man of the strictest probity; nothing could
induce him to betray us. There is no danger to me,
I assure you. I will speak to the man as I go home
to-day. To-morrow and every day hereafter, I will
22
duncan adair.
come into town, and at eleven o'clock I shall walk
past the Penitentiary. Would you know me from
here to the road ? "
" I should know you at any distance I could see
you."
" Well, to be sure, I will wear the green dress that
you saw me wear the other day. When everything
is ready, stand at the window and lift your handker¬
chief to your face. That night I shall have the bolt
withdrawn before midnight. Will that do?"
" Admirably."
Duncan thought her charming, but could not help
wishing in his secret heart that she thought less of
helping him merely as a soldier, or as one of Mor¬
gan's men.
CHAPTER IV.
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
Pauline started home, her cheeks already flushed
with excitement. On her way she spoke to Mr.
Witherspoon, the mechanic whom she hoped to inter¬
est in the case. She was not disappointed. He
readily undertook the mission of withdrawing the
bolt.
The next morning Pauline was up with the lark,
restlessly busy with household affairs. Nothing went
fast enough for her. Her aunt was a little surprised,
when she heard her after breakfast order the carriage
to go into town, but Pauline was an only child, who
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
23
had always had her own way, and it never occurred
to her aunt to oppose her in anything.
Day after day she drove into town, day after day
she walked beyond the Penitentiary without seeing
the signal. At last, one morning she thought she
saw the flutter of a white handkerchief. She walked
very slowly ; again she saw it raised. There could
be no mistake. It was the signal. After having
gone some distance upon the road, she turned and
came back. She saw before her a boy throwing a
ball against the wall that encloses the yard of the
prison, and catching it as it rebounded. As she
eame near him he put the ball into his pocket, and,
walking carelessly along close behind her, he said in
a low voice : " Do not turn your head. Are you
Miss Trousdale ? "
She answered, "Yes."
" Miss Pauline Trousdale? "
" Yes."
"Well, you had better stoop down to lace your
gaiter. I have a note for you; I will drop it as I
pass."
She stooped as directed. The note was dropped,
and immediately seized and folded in her handker¬
chief. The boy passed on without appearing to no¬
tice her.
Hurrying to the house of a friend in the city
where she had engaged to take dinner, she ran up
stairs to lay aside her bonnet, and while she was
alone took the opportunity of reading the note. It
ran thus : "I unexpectedly find an opportunity of
24
DUNCAN ADAIR.
sending you a note. I hope you saw the signal.
Remember the window, under the one near which
we sat. To-night! To-morrow morning they propose
sending me to a Northern prison. If I do not see
the man, I think I shall be able to find your house
from the directions you gave me."
Pauline was feverish from anxiety. It seemed as
if the dinner of her friend would never be served,
and when it came she had no appetite. She ate
indiscriminately of any dish that was offered her, and
never before had found strawberries and cream so
tiresome. The dinner over, there were several things
to be done in the city for her aunt. These must
engage her for two or three hours. All, at length,
having been accomplished, she, with a sigh of relief,
threw herself into the carriage .and said : " Now,
uncle Ned, drive out home." As she proceeded to
the ferry she thought: " After all, I need not have
felt so anxious and hurried. Everything is arranged.
I need only stop and speak to Mr. Witherspoon."
After they had crossed the river, and had gone a
little distance, she heard the carriage driver ejacu¬
late : "I wonder what de matter at Mr. Widder-
spoon's?"
" What is it, uncle Ned?"
"Makin' such a parade ma'am."
" Who is making such a parade ? "
u Dey is ma'am."
"Who?"
" Dem Yankees round Mr. Widderspoon's."
Drive up there, uncle Ned, and let me see what
is the matter."
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
25
The first thought that occurred to her was that her
secret had been discovered. Her hands grew icy
cold. A shiver ran through her frame. As she drew
near the house, she saAv Mr. Witherspoon in the cus¬
tody of several soldiers. There was a considerable
display of guns and bayonets. She controlled her¬
self sufficiently to say in a quiet tone : " Uncle Ned,
stop the carriage. Good evening, Mr. Witherspoon,
what is the matter ? "
" I am arrested, Miss Trousdale, and they are
taking me to prison." Then turning to the soldiers
he asked : " May I shake hands with Miss Trousdale
and say ' Good-bye ' to her ! "
"Yes; be quick about it."
He stepped up to her hastily, took her hand and
said in a whisper: " The}'' know nothing of that
business, but you see I cannot help you."
Poor Pauline did see it with consternation. She
shook his hand and said : <'1 am very sorry !" Then
getting oixt of the carriage she went to his weeping
wife and tried to console her.
This office of mercy over, she entered the carriage
and ordered the driver to " go on." Affairs seemed
to have suddenly grown desperate. Just as, with
much pains, everything had been arranged, by a
single stroke all had been disarranged.
This was the only night that- offered an opportu¬
nity of escape. The next day, Mr. Adair would be
taken to the North. Once there she could not tell
the result—perhaps death in prison. There was no
exchange being made at that time ; she did not know
when there would be. It was too late to procure any
C
26
DUNCAN ADAIR.
one else to withdraw the bolt; indeed, she knew not
to whom else to apply. Here were a great many
perplexing things for a girl of sixteen to think of!
Having reached home, Pauline said to the driver :
" Uncle Ned, when you have put away your horses,
please come to the summer-house in the garden; I
want to see you there."
She then ran up to her own room, closed the door,
and threw herself upon her knees. She had been
taught that God cares for us, and that our smallest
interest concerns Him. She remembered that He
" looseth the prisoners," and she prayed earnestly:
" Lord, direct me ! Lord, help me ! Show me what
to do!"
She arose quietly to consider the situation. Uncle
Ned was entirely faithful, and in his way intelligent,
but she never could make him understand where the
window was ; then she did not know whether he
would have the nerve to go so near to a Yankee sen¬
tinel to assist a prisoner to make his escape; in the
third place, she thought it would be cruel to expose
the old servant to danger. On the other hand, Dun¬
can Adair was depending altogether upon her assur¬
ances that he should be free. She had offered her
assistance. If she had not, he probably might have
obtained help from some one else; but now it was
impossible—to-morrow would be too late.
Pauline grew pale as she said to herself: " Well,
lie must be free, that's all." Then hastily changing
lier dress for a dark calico wrapper, she ran down to
the summer-house.
Uncle Ned soon made his appearance. As he came
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
27
near she arose and said : " Uncle Ned, do the Yan¬
kees station pickets on this road ? "
" Why, yes ; bless your soul, Miss Pauline, dem
debils everywhar."
" Is it not possible to go through the woods and
avoid them ?''
The old man scratched his head. "Yes, Miss ;
people 'voids 'em sometimes, but dey got mighty
sharp eyes—dem Yankees."
"Very well, we'll get by them, or we'll get round
them at any rate."
" We get by 'em ? Who get by 'em, Miss Pau¬
line ? "
" You and I, uncle Ned," answered Pauline,,
quietly.
" Mercy 'pon us ! What de chile thinking of ? "
" Hush, uncle Ned; don't speak so loud. I will
tell you. I have no one to help me but you; I
depend upon you."
" Yes, chile ; you may 'pend upon me. You been
always mon'sus good to me, and if you is gwine to
take a wild goose chase, I'll stick close to you any¬
how."
"Well; but you must not tell any one."
" Don't you be afraid, Miss. I come from ole Vir-
ginny; nuff said."
"Well, as soon as it is dark, I am going to town
to-night. I wish you to go with me. We cannot ride,
for we should be stopped by the pickets, so we must
walk and must start early, as early as we can with¬
out being suspected. There is a canoe I have fre¬
quently seen tied under the old sycamore by„the
28
DUNCAN ADAIR.
river. I am almost sure we can get that, and you
will paddle me over to the other side. '
" Yes, Miss, but thar's some driff still floating on
the river.*'
" That cannot be helped; we must try and avoid it."
" Sartinly, Miss Pauline ; but I'm mighty jubous
about the weather," and uncle Ned looked up at the
sky, which was becoming darkened with those hasty
spring-clouds that so often gather.
" If it rain," Pauline remarked, " so much the
better."
"Very well, Miss ; I be ready."
After tea, Mrs. Murray complaining of a slight
headache, retired to her room ; Pauline dismissed the
servants, telling them that she would see that the
house was fastened; then fastening all the doors
except one at the back of the house, she passed out
through that, and in a few minutes two figures might
have been seen, one enveloped in a black silk mantle,
creeping stealthily along the lane, close in the shadow
of the fence. The moon was wading heavily through
the clouds, and only now and then a burst of light
fell upon them. Pauline's heart beat so fast, that she
felt as if it would burst through her bodice ; her sup¬
pressed breathing did not seem to furnish half the air
that was necessary for her lungs.
They had intended turning into a second lane that
led from the first, but Pauline fancying she saw a
man at the head of the lane, touched uncle Ned, and
climbing a fence, dropped into the field beyond.
There a range of bushes screened them from the fan¬
cied sentinel. The ground had been plowed for corn,
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
29
and every step she sunk into the soft earth. She
struggled on, however, until she came to a wood-land
pasture, and there the walking was better, and the
shade more secure. By the time they had reached
the river, the clouds had quite overcast the moon,
and flashes of lightning from time to time illuminated
their way. The wind blew in gusts, and occasionally
large drops of rain were felt upon their faces and
hands.
The ground was so familiar to uncle Ned, that the
canoe was found without much difficulty, but it seemed
to Pauline that she had never seen him so long
about anything as he was in untying the rope. She
feared every moment that a Yankee soldier would
come. She bent her head and listened painfully, and
at the sound of a passing cow, she sank upon the
bank ready to faint.
The canoe was unmoored, and Pauline crouched
down in the bottom while uncle Ned pushed it out
from shore. It seemed a mere egg shell between
them and the turbulent waters. The current was
swift, and although the river was no longer rising,
occasional logs and other drift came floating past.
The darkening sky aided the passage of the boat, for
to one on shore it appeared to be but a portion of the
drift. Uncle Ned used the paddle softly v and half
floating, half rowing, he at last reached the other
bank, but far below the point he had attempted to
gain.
Neither had spoken a word. Pauline's feet were
cold and wet with the trater in the bottom of the
canoe, but she did not notice it; her soul was swal-
c*
30
DUNCAN ADAIR.
lowed up in apprehension. Once landed, she whiff
pered:
" Uncle Ned, where can you fasten the canoe sc
that we can find it again ? "
" Dar no place to fasten the canoe here, Miss Pau¬
line. Don't you see it's all rock. Ef you get in
again, maybe I fine some place 'long de river."
" 0, no I I can't do that! We have not a moment
to lose ; beside it would only be running fresh risk of
discovery. No, you stay here, uncle Ned, and keep
the canoe until I come back."
Before the old man could reply, she was gone in the
darkness, clambering up the slippery rocks. All
alone, she struggled on through the night. The hor¬
ror of her helplessness came over her at times until
she was sick from fear. Then she would draw cour¬
age from desperation. " Surely," she would say to
herself, " God will take care of me. I am doing
right. I am acting for Him and for my country.
He will not let anything hurt me. 'What time I
am afraid, I will trust in Thee.' " Thus with alter¬
nate bravery and trepidation she still pursued her
way. From caution she passed through the darkest
streets, and they all seemed unfamiliar to her. The
night had grown so stormy that but few sentinels
were out, and these, from her knowledge of the town,
she was enabled to shun. Once only, she saw a sol¬
dier approaching so rapidly, that she gave up all
hopes of escape. Just then to her right hand, she
discovered the gate of a coal yard left ajar. She
slipped in and concealed hdrself among the piles of
coal. She heard the soldier s feet ringing on the
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY.
31
pavement as lie passed, and her heart was quite in her
throat, but he had not observed her. Again, as she
turned into an unfrequented street, a drunken man
came reeling out of a low groggery, hallooing a bac¬
chanalian song. She was on the opposite side of the
narrow way, and placing herself in a door-way, she
stood perfectly still. The second danger passed, and
the drunken song died away, amidst the wind and the
rain.
As she came near the Penitentiary, the rain poured
down in torrents, and the wind blew with such
violence that, at times, it was impossible to take a
step forward. Not a light was seen anywhere. She
groped her way along by the wall. She was drenched
with the rain, but she was not cold; she had walked
miles, but she was not fatigued. Her trepidation was
all gone, her heart beat with a regular, firm stroke ;
not a nerve trembled. Without encountering any
one, she reached that part of the building, in front,
to which she had been directed. She felt her way to
the window. No sentinel was near it. He had taken
shelter in the door-way some paces off. She ran her
hand along the bars; she felt the bolt. Putting her
hand into her pocket, she drew forth a small bottle of
hair oil. With this she carefully greased the bolt;
then she attempted to draw it back. It was heavy,
and resisted her efforts. Again she oiled it, and col¬
lected all her strength for the exertion—-joy! it gives
way ! The deed is accomplished! It had made
some noise, but it was lost amidst the noise of the
storm.
She had not turned from the window, before it
82
DUNCAN ADAIR.
opened and a man sprang from it. Then she trem¬
bled ! It might be Duncan Adair, but it might be one
of the Yankee soldiers. lie grasped her arm, and a
sudden half suppressed exclamation escaped him.
She caught his hand, for she had in the broken
exclamation recognized his voice. Without speaking,
she drew him along the wall. Soon they were in the
road. Duncan drew her arm within his, and crossing
the street, passed into the open fields beyond. When
quite sure that they were beyond the hearing of the
sentinels, Duncan spoke :
" Miss Trousdale, this is not what you promised
me ! How could you do it ? You have killed your¬
self to save me ! How could you do it ? "
" 0, hush !" she replied, " I am so glad you are
free ! "
" But you will die from this exposure."
' " No danger ! Rain hurts me no more than it does
a young goose, which, perhaps, you think I am."
" I think you are an angel."
" Then you know the rain can't hurt me ; but do
not speak now; we are coming into town again."
It was now near mid-night. The violence of the
storm had driven every one off the street, except here
and there a hardy sentinel stood at his post. These
our fugitives had managed to avoid, until in turning
a corner, they came so suddenly upon one standing
under a gas-lamp, that it was impossible to escape
his observation. They were passing him when he
stopped them, and said to Duncan : " Your pass, sir!"
Ah, yes, 1 eplied Duncan, and began feeling in
his vest pocket. At length he exclaimed in a tone
LEAVING THE PENITENTIARY. 3S
of vexation : " Why, where is the plaguey thing ? "
Then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he turned
to Pauline, and said : " There now, Lucy, I left it
in my other vest, which I pulled off at home this
evening—what is to be done now? " Here address¬
ing himself to the sentinel, he said : "I have, unfor¬
tunately, forgotten my pass; but you see, sir, how I
am situated. My sister here and I have been spend¬
ing the evening with a friend. Our mother is alone
at home awaiting us. My sister is already very wet
from the rain, and this situation is exposing her still
more. You cannot suppose that I am on any errand
of mischief, and a lady with me. Be so kind, sir, as
to let us pass on out of this rain."
The man hesitated. Duncan slipped a piece of
money into his hand, and passed him, saying: "I
cannot stay here parleying."
The man looked after him, and said : "I guess it's
all right."
" Of course," said Duncan in a low voice to him¬
self, "it's all right when you have the money."
Winding along through out of the way places, and
amidst the tumbling down houses of the suburbs,
they came out, at last, upon the river bank. The
rain had ceased. Masses of broken cloud were roll¬
ing overhead. After walking up and down the bank
for some time, and calling softly now and then, they
came, at last, upon uncle Ned.
" Marcy 'pon us, Miss Pauline! whar you bin
gwine through all dis rain? I wus shore you wus
drowned and killed and slaughtered, and dat bein de
exposition of de fac, dis ole nigger was ready to
34
DUNCAN ADAIK.
drown hisself, 'cause you know consequently, dii
nigger could never face ole massa no more.
" Don't talk, uncle Ned," said Pauline, " until we
get home. Some one may bear you."
They took their seat in the canoe. All was silent.
The rowing proved to be more difficult than when
they came over, because now they were going up
stream, but Duncan caught up a paddle that lay in
the bottom of the canoe, and in a few minutes the
vessel was skimming like a petrel over the waves.
When they were near their place of landing, the
moon burst through the clouds, and threw a flood. of
light over the waters. They heard some one hail them
from the southern bank. They made no answer.
Again, they heard the halloo, and then a shot came
whizzing past them.
They were now on shore. Uncle Ned did not stop
to tie the canoe, but let it float down the current.
They hurried on, through the woods, over fences,
unregardful of any obstacle that lay in their way.
Pauline took Duncan's arm, and he almost bore her
along, as they hastened onward. Often he whispered,
"Are you not fatigued? Are you not cold?" but
she always answered, "Not at all."
the pursuit.
35
CHAPTER V.
THE PURSUIT.
After a weary and muddy march, the party
arrived at Mr. Trousdale's house. They entered softly
through the back door. Pauline whispered to uncle
Ned to show Mr. Adair to the library, to give him a
change of her father's clothes, and to light a fire.
She retired to her room, and changing her own
clothes, put on a double dressing gown, and sitting
down before the fire, spread her hair out over her
shoulders to dry.
Her cheeks were still glowing with excitement.
Her whole nervous system was so thoroughly aroused
that she felt neither weariness nor want of sleep.
She sat looking into the fire, thinking over the events
ef the past few hours, and wondering if it were not
a dream from which she would awake. She knew
not what time had elapsed, when she heard a soft
tap at the door. She arose and opened it. There
stood uncle Ned—his eyes bigger and whiter than
ever before. " Miss Pauline, dey are here."
"Who?"
" Dem debbils; they are all down stairs."
" Go down, uncle Ned, and keep them there as
long as you can," whispered Pauline; then going
through the passage that separated her room from
the library, she opened the door, and Duncan Adair
stood before her, dressed in a complete suit of her
father's clothes. Even her father's round, drab-
36
DUNCAN ADAIR.
colored hat which happened to be in the room, he
had. put on in a whim to complete the costume. A
bright fire burned in the grate; a bottle of wine and
a wine glass stood on a waiter upon the table.
Everything looked so comfortable, "if," in the words
of Sir Walter Raleigh, "one might have abided
by it." .
Pauline took little time to notice these things. She
merely whispered : " Make your escape ; they are
here ; in the house."
" How can I escape then ?" said Duncan very
composedly.
" There is a window," said Pauline, " at the end
of the passage. You can get through that upon a
back gallery which will lead you to the end of the
house. By climbing over the railing there you can
reach the roof of the kitchen. That is protected on
one side by a breast work of brick; by laying down
between that and the chimney you may conceal
yourself. If there is no guard placed there, you may
probably get down by catching the limbs of a tree
which grows near the kitchen ; but come, quickly!
They will be up here in a moment! "
Duncan looked at her musingly as if he were
thinking more of her than the escape. " And shall
I ever meet you again ? " he said.
" Oh, yes, I hope so," she replied, " but make
haste, they will take you ! "
He followed her to the end of the passage. She
opened the window softly. He caught her hand,
pressed it warmly, and stepped out upon the gallery.
The window was closed, and Pauline returned to the
THE PURSUIT.
37
library to see that nothing of Duncan's which might
excite suspicion was there.
Everything had been removed, and put in a place
of safety by uncle Ned. She was about to leave the
room, when several Yankee soldiers presented them¬
selves at the door, while behind them was seen the
pale face of Mrs. Murray, and the black terror
stricken countenance of Pauline's maid.
Pauline said to the soldiers : " Wh}^ are we dis¬
turbed at this hour of the night ? "
One of them answered : "We are on the track of
an escaped prisoner, named Duncan Adair."
"Do you expect," she rejoined, "to find him
here ? "
"Well, I calc'late if he's here, we'll be pretty sure
to get him."
" Yery well, search the house."
"You seem to keep pretty late hours here, Miss,"
said the soldier, " and make free use of your fuel;
this is a large fire to be burning at this time o' night."
" Are you commissioned to inquire into the habits
of our family," asked Pauline.
" O, we have the right to ask of the rebels what
questions we think proper."
Pauline's lip slightly curled, but she made no
answer.
"You seem to have been keeping company, too,
with some one; I see you have wine."
" If you want the wine, drink it."
" Well, I dun't know as I hev any objection; " so
saying, he poured out a glass, drank it, and then he
handed it to his companions who also drank.
D
38
DUNCAN ADAIR.
They then proceeded in their search, looking under
tables, sofas and cushioned chairs, striking on the
shelves of books to see if the sound indicated any
space behind them.
In the meantime, Pauline had managed to signal
to the maid to go to her room. She knew, as the
girl was intelligent and faithful, that as soon as she
saw the wet clothes she would know they ought to
be put out of the way. Then, turning to the sol¬
diers, she said: " You have not yet looked into that
table drawer. He might be in that, perhaps. There
is a wafer box, also, which you have not examined.
I advise you to be careful lest he escape you."
The soldiers appeared half ashamed and half
angry, but one of them stepping up to her, took hold
of her hair, and said : "Your hair seems to be damp,
Miss ? "
She drew back, and from her eye flashed the spirit
of the old Roman senator who struck to the earth
the barbarian for daring to handle his beard. " Ex¬
amine this house," she said, "if such be your
orders, from garret to cellar; but if you touch me
again, it shall be at your peril."
" Didn't mean to offend you, Miss; I admire your
grit."
" O, don't talk to them, Pauline ! " exclaimed Mrs.
Murray.
"Insolent dogs!" said Pauline as she left the
room.
The search went forward. Duncan was not found,
but so convinced were the Yankees of his being
concealed upon the premises, that they left a guard
around the housa.
THE PURSUIT.
89
An hour had passed. All was quiet. Duncan
arose quietly, and looked beyond the breast work.
Beneath the tree, whose branches almost touched the
roof, he could discern through the darkness the
figure of a sentinel, whose hand held the musket
that stood on the ground beside him. With a quick
eye and determined hand, Duncan put into execution
the plan that occurred to him. Springing forward,
he caught the branches of the tree, and as he swung
himself down, he, with the heel of his boot, struck
the sentinel such a blow upon the head as brought
him senseless to the ground. The gun went off in
the fall, but Duncan was unhurt, and leaping the
garden fence he made his escape into the woods,
before the sentinels could discover what had happened.
He walked some distance in contradictory direc¬
tions through the woods, for the ground was soft,
and he left the impress of his foot in the soil, then
passing into the lane he crossed it, walking back¬
ward, and leaping another fence, passed through
some pasture land in the direction of the city.
About breakfast time the next morning, a respec.
table looking man, in the dress of a middle aged
person, with a round drab hat on, walked quietly
into the steam ferry boat that was about starting
across to the city. He took up a newspaper, and
occupied himself with it, until they reached the south
bank, then paying his fare he walked up the hill and
entered Nashville. Passing through the streets, he
saw no hacks, but seeing a negro man he called him
and said: "Do you see that lady standing on the
piazza paying for some strawberries ? "
"Yes, sah."
40
DUNCAN ADAIR.
" Well I am to take breakfast with her. Imme¬
diately after breakfast, I wish to drive into the coun¬
try—will you bring me a hack to the door ? "
"Yes, sah."
The gentleman then approached the lady, and said :
"Madam, I belong to the Federal camp; I have been
sick, and started to take a walk, but find that I am
not yet sufficiently strong—I have ordered a hack to
take .me back. May I be permitted to rest in your
house until it comes ? "
The lady gave consent in a very cold ungracious
tone.
He walked in, and took a seat in the parlor, where
he found several ladies. The welcome they gave hirn^
was chilling. Soon the gentleman of the house
appeared, and saying "Good morning,'» asked him if
he belonged to the Federal camp.
"Yes, sir."
" What position have you in the army ? "
" I belong to the commissary department."
"When have you heard from John Morgan and
his men ? "
"Not for some time. O, I fancy we have pretty
well cut them up."
"No," rejoined the gentleman of the house with
warmth, "you have not pretty well cut them up;
but they will pretty well cut you up before you have
done."
The stranger turned and said to him: " Sir, I have
been lying to you. I am not a Federal officer, but
am one of Morgan's men, and have just made my
escape from the Penitentiary."
THE PURSUIT.
41
" One of Morgan's men ? " exclaimed the ladies,
all springing up at ©nee, "we must shake hands with
you."
The gentleman expressed his gratification, but
added: "You must not remain here. They will be
searching for you. Come, our breakfast is just ready.
Take your breakfast. In the mean time, I will have
my carriage ordered, for the pickets on the road
would stop the hack. My wife and daughters will
take a morning ride. They have a pass. They will
take you to a friend of ours in the country, whence
you can make your escape.
A few days after these events, Mr. Trousdale's
family physician called to see Pauline, and handed
her a note which had been given him by a gentle¬
man in Nashville. It ran thus : " I am safe, thanks
to your courage and wisdom ! If I live, your name
shall nerve my arm in every battle; if I die, I shall
bear your image with me into Eternity."
* * * * *
Several months had passed. The long bright days
of summer had eome. Pauline was romping with
her young cousins with whom she and her parents
were spending the summer, or strolling with themi
through the green woodlands of Kentucky, or sitting
under some shady tree, watching her cork as it floated
upon the quiet waters of " old Salt river." Some;
times she paused and gazed on vacancy, dreamingly
gazed, as if something were in the space before her,,
unseen by other eyes.
One evening as she *at on the steps of the front
D*
42
DUNCAN ADAIR.
portico, watching the black birds as they came troop¬
ing to an old elm for their night's repose, a young
boy came running up the lawn, and when he arrived
at the bottom of the steps, almost out of breath,
he exclaimed: "Cousin Pauline, John Morgan's
coming!"
Pauline burst into a laugh : " That was capitally
done, cousin Alf., but is it possible that you have put
yourself to the trouble of running clear across the
lawn, just to hoax me with that story? No, no,
Master Alfred Branham, I am not quite so young as
to believe such an improbability."
" I declare, cousin Pauline, upon my honor, it's the
truth."
" Who told you so ? "
" A young fellow down in town told me that his
father saw some of the soldiers yesterday, and he
says they are not twenty miles from here, and that
they will be here to-morrow."
"Oh, how can that be? I wonder if it is true?"
exclaimed Pauline, as she sprang up and ran into
the house, crying, "Pa, Ma, cousin Miles, do you
hear that ? Morgan is coming ! Do you think it is
true, Pa?"
" You are a strange herald to bring us news, and
then ask us to confirm it," said Mr. Trousdale.
"But what do you think about it. Alfred says a
boy told him that his father had seen some of the
troops, and that they will be here to-morrow. I do
hope it is true."
"It is not very likely," remarked Mr. Branham,
that Morgan would dare penetrate into the very heart
THE PURSUIT.
43
of Kentucky, when there are Federal troops scat¬
tered all over the State."
The family all joined in expressing their disbelief
of the story, and yet they all went out upon the por¬
tico as if to look already for his coming. No South¬
ern troops were in sight, but the " Home Guards "
were flying in all directions, and the whole village
seemed to be in a state of unusual commotion. The
gentlemen put on their hats to go into the village,
the ladies remained at home indulging in a thousand
exciting conjectures. There was very little sleep in
the house that night. The next morning, however,
they all arose disposed to laugh at the story which
had created so much disturbance the day before.
After breakfast Pauline went into the garden to
gather some flowers, when Alfred again came rush¬
ing through the gate. " Cousin Pauline, they're
coming! I tell you they're coming! They are this
side of Salt river! I saw them myself, and came
galloping back to tell you."
Pauline asked no second question. She ran into
the house, caught up her hat, and she and A If. started
into the village as fast as they could walk. The
houses seemed emptying themselves into the streets,
and the people were in a delirium of joy. Soon the
grey uniform of the South was seen upon the hill¬
top that overlooked the village. The song of " The
Bonnie Blue Flag" came floating down upon the
breeze, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, the
little boys ran shouting to meet the soldiers, the old
men stood with beaming faces and moistened eyes,
the shout that they dared not utter with the little
44
DUNCAN ADAIR,
boys, being pent up within their hearts. Oh, Ken
tucky ! when shall the voice of Freedom again ring
from thy valleys and thy hill-tops!
Pauline stood upon a terrace as the soldiers passed
by, waving to them her handkerchief, throwing
them the flowers that she held in her hand.
It is useless to say that she did not look with a
nervous interest for the face of Duncan Adair.
Among so many persons in uniform, it is difficult to
recognize an acquaintance. They had all passed.
Pauline was disappointed. She said to herself: "He
is not with them," and was turning away, when
Duncan stood or the terrace beside her. He caught
her hand. "Miss Trousdale, this is the crowning
joy of this day ! "
Pauline answered: " I am so glad to see you ! I
was afraid you were not among the troops; but come,
you must go with me to my cousin's, you must see
my father and mother."
Duncan went with her. She busied herself in pre¬
paring for him the most delicate refreshments, she
introduced him to her friends, she went with him
through the garden to gather flowers; they walked
through the grove, down by the spring that burst
out beneath the ancient elm. All day long he was
by her side. It was one of the golden days that
seem sent down direotly from the gates of heaven.
Once, as they stood beside the spring, she said to
him : " I was uneasy until I heard that you were
safe, beyond the lines."
And yet, he replied, " I was captured in es«
caping. Did you know it ? "
THE PURSUIT.
45
" No," she replied in surprise, looking up at him ;
" Where were you taken ? "
" At Nashville."
" I did not hear it! How did you escape the
second time ? "
" I did not escape at all. I am still a captive,
bound hand and foot, and that is what keeps me here
beside you to-day. I do not wish to escape ; I only
ask gentle treatment for the prisoner."
Pauline turned away blushing, and attempting to
treat the matter playfully, said : " You are so enig¬
matical, it is impossible to understand you."
Duncan replied seriously: "You do understand
me."
Just then, to Pauline's relief, her father joined
them.
At twilight the order was given for the troops to
leave. Again, for a moment, Pauline and Duncan
were left alone. He said to her: " Will you think
of me ? " She struggled hard to keep back the tears,
but they came in spite of her. Sobbing, she buried
her face in her handkerchief. Before Duncan could
speak or move, he heard the voices of soldiers behind
him. Pauline turned hastily to conceal her tears,
and entered an avenue leading back to the house.
Duncan saw her no more.
46
duncan adair.
CHAPTER VI.
CONCLUSION.
Mr. Trousdale and his family remained long
enough in Kentucky to witness Bragg's campaign,
and when our forces retired once more, sullen before
the overwhelming numbers of the foe, Mr. Trousdale
also left the State. He did not remain long at his
home near Nashville. Unwilling to take the oath of
allegiance to a foreign and hostile power, unwilling
to brook the insults to which Southern people were
daily subjected, he removed further South in Ten¬
nessee, that he might put the brave hearts of our
soldiers between his family and our enemies. He
and his wife, trembling even there for their daughter,
insisted upon her accepting the invitation of an old
schoolmate to visit Georgia. Yery reluctantly Pau¬
line obeyed. Months passed away. The brilliant
victory of Murfreesboro' was won, but our army was
obliged to retr'eat; then many other uncertain and
weary months, and another retreat. Pauline was,
indeed, now nearly frantic with anxiety, for her
parents were left within the enemy's line. One morn¬
ing, to her immeasurable joy, she found herself in
their arms. A second flight had brought them into
Georgia. After all the first tumult of happiness had
passed, Mrs. Trousdale said: " Pauline, vour father
had a very narrow escape from death by the Yan¬
kees, through the heroism of a friend of yours."
" What do you mean, mamma? " said Pauline.
CONCLUSION.
47
Mrs. Trousdale continued: "We were living on
debateable ground—that is, first in possession of one
army and then of the other. One day a party of
marauding Yankees came, and were destroying every¬
thing upon the place. Your father made no resist¬
ance, as he knew it was useless, until they attempted
to enter the house. This lie told them they should
not do, as I was sick and in bed. A struggle ensued.
They had overpowered your father, and had him on
the ground. One man had his foot upon his breast,
and was about to run his bayonet through him, when
suddenly a rush and the report of a pistol was heard.
The arm of the Yankee dropped powerless at his
side, and all his comrades instantly took to flight,
pursued by six Confederates, who had come in the
back way, through the garden, conducted by old
uncle Ned. Several of the Yankees were killed,
and several taken prisoners. Our men returned to
our house to breakfast, and we then found that they
were led by Duncan Adair. It was he who had shot
the Yankee that was about killing your father."
As Pauline listened to this recital, all the blood
fled from her face. When it was finished, she threw
her arms around her father's neck, and then around
her mother's, exclaiming : " I will never leave you
any more."
" It was our greatest comfort, my child," answered
her mother, " that you were not with us, but in a
place of safety. However, for the future, I think we
will remain together. We will not be separated
again, during this war, even for a day."
"In that case," remarked Mr. Trousdale, "you
48
DUNCAN ADAIR.
and Pauline must make yourselves ready to go with
me to Savannah to-morrow, as I am called there on
business. If Pauline's young friend here—Miss
Alice Wyatt—will consent to go with us, we may
make it a pleasant party."
Alice readily consented, and the next day found
them all at the Pulaski House in Savannah.
No one ever goes to Savannah without visiting
Bonaventure. Our party selected a pleasant day,
and drove out there. The bright rays of the sun
were softened into a melancholy light by the foliage
of the spreading oak—the grey moss hung like trail¬
ing banners, which memory had planted over the
past.
The young girls wandered, hand in hand, through
the broad avenues, wondering what hand had planted
them, what ej^e had watched them grow, dreaming
of the grandeur which in times long past, perhaps,
had marked the place ; of the scenes of revelry and
gaiety which it had witnessed; of the careless feet
and loving hearts that had once rambled through
that forest bower. Now the gay dream has passed
away. Beauty and silence dwell there together; and
the white marble that glistens through the enchant¬
ing gloom gives to it an undying interest, by speaking
to us of the dead, our unoffending and best beloved
ones!
The party at last found itself upon the banks of a
water course. The stream was tumbling onward
with a reckless Southern impetuosity, its dark waters
moving with a menacing roar.
Pauline stood by the river, looking upon its boil
Conclusion.
49
ing waters as if she were fascinated by the struggling
waves. One by one the others tired and wandered
off, until she was left alone. She stood looking upon
the waters and "smiling. She was not thinking of
the waters, nor of Bonaventure, neither of its past
or its present. She was in Tennessee. She was
witnessing the struggle at her father's door; she was
looking at Duncan as he rode up and shot the Yan¬
kee ; she was wondering why he had sent her no
message through her mother; she was wondering if
he thought of her, if he thought of her often ; if he
liked any one else better than herself; she was
hoping—yes, it is just the truth—that he did not.
A coming footstep aroused her from her dream.
She turned with a mesmeric start. She knew it was
Duncan. She felt as if her thought had conjured
him up; as if- her wish had drawn him. She felt as
if he had read her heart, as he would have read a
letter, and had only obeyed its call. She was cov¬
ered with the most painful embarrassment; and when
he approached her with quickened pace, and joy
beaming countenance, she met him with a chilling
reserve. He was stunned as by a blow. " Misa
Trousdale," he exclaimed, "what is the matter?"
" Nothing."
" You seem sorry to gee me."
" Oh, no," she answered with an air of indifference,
" I am very glad to see you."
Drawing himself up proudly, he replied : " I see,
Miss Trousdale, I have in some way offended you."
" No you have not. How could you have offended
me? Did you not save my father's life? Grati¬
tude "
50
DUNCAN ADAIR.
" Please do not mention that," said Duncan impa¬
tiently, " I detest gratitude.
Pauline was in her turn wounded and remained
silent.
Duncan continued rapidly : "I came to Savannah
purposely to sec you. The way seemed long tind
wearisome, till I should meet you. When I arrived
at the hotel, I heard you were here, and I followed
you, only to learn that I have made a fool of
myself. Yet I will say to you all that I intended to
say, and then retrace my steps, at least a somewhit
wiser man." He paused, as if suffering a sensation
of choking, then continued: " In Kentucky you
said I spoke in enigmas; now I will speak plainly.
I love you better than my own life ! You came to
me in prison like a vision. That vision took posses¬
sion of my whole being. I have suffered suspense
for months. I could bear it no longer. I came to
tell you this—to ask you to be mine? but you need
not, Miss Trousdale, give yourself the trouble of
denying me. I heard the denial in the first words of
welcome that you uttered."
While he was speaking, Pauline turned alternately
red and pale. When he ceased she said in a low
voice : " Why not call me Pauline ? "
He looked eagerly into her face. It was overspread
with blushes, and her eyes were cast down. " May
I ? " he said, " may I call you Pauline ? "
Yes; call me Pauline," she answered in the same
low tone.
He took her hand, he took it in both of his. She
did not withdraw it. « And will you give me this
CONCLUSION.
51
little hand, Pauline, that drew back the bolt and
gave me libertj^ ?"
For a moment she looked up into his face with
eyes smiling through tears : " You have taken pos¬
session of it already."
" But may I keep it as my own t"
"I am not strong enough to take it away."
He bent over her hand and pressed it to his lips :
" Thank you, dear Pauline; I am not worthy of it,
but I will strive to become so."
^ They walked through the grove to seek their party.
The green leaves of the live oaks were emeralds
trembling in the sunshine; the sombre moss was a
shining silver tapestry; the odor of violets was a
breath of heaven, and this " field of death" grew
up around them into a true and ever-blooming field
of life.