FoM Burton ©^ 
 

 .\*"^y:- ■ ^■-K.^j • 
 
 ^^^W^ 
 
 mS 
 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
 
 ^£^ 
 
 '^^O'^ 
 
^^^"i. 
 
 if-m^^fli 
 
 Wt 
 
 .r L A : 
 
 *^^!^ 
 
 
 
 ^§p 
 
 '^■^:»^^ 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/tomburtonordaysoOOIeca 
 
TOM BURTON. 
 
IN PRESS: 
 By the mine Author. 
 
 AUNT SALLY'S BOY JACK. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 To appear complete in the August 
 Nun-fber of 
 
 BELFORD'S MAGAZINE. 
 
 Price, 25 Cents. 
 
TOM BURTOISr; 
 
 OR, THE DAYS OF '61 
 
 BY 
 
 K. J. ^Y. LE CATO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS: 
 
 BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY, 
 
 Chicago, New York, and San Francisco, 
 
COPYRIOHT, 1888, 
 
 BELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 
 
WtVitaixon, 
 TO TULLY A. JOYNES, JK. 
 
 My Dear Tully : 
 
 More than once in my life I have felt like Tell in Knowles^ 
 celebrated play, when he asks, " Have I a friend in this 
 crowd ? '^ And in casting about for some sympathetic face I 
 can truly say, I have never seen yours averted. Please ac- 
 cept, my dear Tully, this poor acknowledgment of a friend- 
 ship I hold more dear than any I have on earth. And be- 
 lieve me, 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 THE AUTHOK. 
 
 603012 
 
TOM BURTON. 
 
 A VIRGINIA STORY OF THE STIRRING DAYS 
 OF '61. 
 
 PART I. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RUNNIXG THE BLOCKADE. 
 
 "No"W, this is riglit smart misfortionable, Sammy, to hev 
 to wait here arter this fashion when the wind is dyin' out and 
 the moon already sot, and we uns lyin' here jest doin' a nuthin', 
 like onto a stingary stuck into the back Avith a harpoon. 
 Why in thunder don't he come along, I want ter know." 
 
 " Gin him time to kiss her ^ good-bye,' uncle. It '11 be a 
 long while afore he has the apportunity to see her agin, ef 
 he ever does, and it's mighty hard a partin' under those cir- 
 cumstances, you must allow." 
 
 " So it ware, Sammy, so it ware. I'll ecknowledge it's werry 
 misfortionable ; but at the same time, my boy, the sooner them 
 partin' scenes is over the better it 'll be for both ev them. 
 Besides, it's high water and arter, and we uns had better be 
 a niovin' away from these localities. This here breeze of 
 wind are none too fresh now to speak ev, and them 'ar Fed- 
 rals out thar in the bay are pesky hard fellers to fool, you 
 know." 
 
 Captain Evans said this with the air of one who knew what 
 he was talking about, and as he finished the last sentence he 
 twirled a spray of tobacco juice from his mouth, half spite- 
 fully, into the water, and changed his enormous quid leisurely 
 from one side to the other of his capacious jaws. Accom- 
 plishing this oft-repeated feat, he settled down into the stern 
 sheets of his little boat with a groan of impatience and 
 decided to wait. 
 
8 TOM BUHTOir. 
 
 The boat referred to was a canoe called sometimes in 
 derision " a dug-out," many of them being built of a single 
 tree and dug-out like a trough. 
 
 In the bow of this narrow craft was standing a tall, trian- 
 gular sail, which was flapping idly from side to side as the 
 canoe, rocked by the surge of the waves, careened first one 
 way and then the other. The surf was not high, but could 
 be heard up and down the beach in a monotonous swash 
 which seemed to play a drear}^ duet with the sough of the tall 
 pines which stood all along the shore, just in the rear of a 
 line of sand hills which marked a treeless waste for miles and 
 miles. 
 
 The boy Sammy was a youth of seventeen or eighteen, 
 and stood just abaft the clew of the sail, holding out an oar 
 on the shore-side to keep the craft afloat. 
 
 The night was waning, and the wind dying out. The dewy 
 zephyrs seemed to be sighing themselves to sleep in the tops 
 of the pines. 
 
 A few rods from where the boat lay in the shadow of the 
 thicket, a j'oung Confederate captain was taking leave of his 
 promised bride. 
 
 It is proper to relate the circumstances. It was late in 
 the month of Xovember, 1861. The eastern shore of Virginia 
 had that very day been reclaimed by the Federal Govern- 
 ment. The one lone regiment which had vainly attempted 
 for many months to defend the Peninsula had disbanded at 
 discretion, and Captain AValsingham, like many others of the 
 disorganized battalion, was attempting to escape to the other 
 side of the Chesapeake. 
 
 The motive which prompted this isolated people to take up 
 arms in the beginning, was either pure patriotism as they 
 held patriotism to be — allegiance to the State — or else pure 
 foolishness. 
 
 Separated entirely from the parent State, and beyond all 
 hope of help from the new Government at Richmond, there 
 was little prospect for anything else but disaster. After 
 vainly trying to defend their long line of sea and bay coast, 
 and the Maryland border, some of those brave men were 
 unwilling to surrender, and, under cover of this ]S"ovember 
 night, were endeavoring to cross over into Dixie as best they 
 might. 
 
 Claude "Walsingham, the gentleman before designated as 
 Captain, was one of these. 
 
 He had taken the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy, 
 sworn to give his service for life or death to it for three years 
 or the war; and under no condition would he be prevailed upou 
 
TOM BlTRTOir. 9 
 
 to surrender to the enemy while the ghost of a chauce 
 remained for him to escape to the other side. 
 
 The young hidy to whom he had but lately engaged him- 
 self, and for whom, like every other young lover, he had pro- 
 fessed the fondest devotion, had accompanied him to the hay 
 shore to see him off and bid him God-speed, while her father 
 waited at a respectful distance for the end of this trying 
 scene. 
 
 There, in the darkness of the pine woods and the bitterness 
 of the parting hour, they plighted again those vows of eter- 
 nal fidelity which lovers know so well how to make, and which, 
 alas ! are some times broken or disregarded with the same 
 facility, if not with the same emotions, in which they are 
 given. 
 
 He, of course, was gentle and tender, sustaining in his lan- 
 guage, and profuse in pictures of future glory and future 
 happiness ; while she bedews his manly check with love's 
 first gush of uncontrollable grief. 
 
 That the scene was sad goes without saying. 
 
 How dirge-like to both their hearts was the low cadence of 
 the sighing trees ! How desolate the ceaseless echo of the 
 waves along the shore ! Nature seemed to sympathize witli 
 her poor sneering children, who, short-sighted and inexpe- 
 rienced, saw not the future that was spread out before them, 
 but which had nothing in realitj' in it which, in a prophetic 
 sense, appeared very promising. 
 
 If it did, why did Kate Moore, the affianced bride, feel so 
 stricken and hopeless as she stood there, tall and graceful as 
 she was, leaning 0:1 the shoulder of the taller, stronger sol- 
 dier ? Why did she linger, weeping, if there came to her 
 agonized heart no presentiment of evil from the solemn sur- 
 roundings, whis|)ering to her in language she understood 
 scarcely, but sufficiently to know that there were trials for her 
 in the days that were to come even greater than the one she was 
 then passing through ? 
 
 With the gentleness of a young husband, the handsome 
 officer led the young lady to her father, kissed her hand, 
 grasped that of the old man fervently, and then, with firm-set 
 mouth, and hasty step, strode down the beach toward the 
 waiting canoe. 
 
 " He are a com in' at last ! " exclaimed the boy as he caught 
 sight of the tardy passenger through the straggling trees. 
 
 Captain Evans rose up, yawned, and replied . 
 
 " That am a fact truth, Samm}^ Put in your oar now, 
 honey, and git to rights to sprit your sail out a little better ; 
 
10 TOM nrirrox. 
 
 and look out tbiir and don't skin your shins over that bar'l 
 of wliisky and them boxes in the bottom ev the cunner. 
 Quynine and whisky are werry waluable merchandise over 
 thar in Dixie." Then in the same strain of voice he con- 
 tinued : "' Step right down into the cunner, Captain Walsh- 
 ingham. You kin jest occurpy that middle thwart thar and 
 make yourself as comfortable as you kin. I hate to see you 
 looking so solemchoUy over your partin' ; its werry misfor- 
 tionable, I know ; but its war times and can't be prevented, so 
 we must make the best ev it we kin." In this way the old 
 sailor ran on while Captain AValsingham was adjusting him- 
 self to his new quarters. But the young soldier was melan- 
 choly nevertheless. He bowed his head and covered his face 
 with his ban Is. 
 
 It was in fact to his proud and haughty spirit the first 
 ( heck, to his patrioti(r hopes the first damper, to his estimate 
 of the future the first evil omen of the lost cause. 
 
 These sensations, however, were but momentary after all. 
 Why should one single failure be of such consequence ? What 
 was the loss of two insignificant counties to the victories of 
 Big Bethel and Bull Bun ? 
 
 "In the limitless fields and forests of the Sunny South there 
 is still room enough for liberty. There are thousands of im- 
 pregnable haunts for freedom even when all Virginia shall 
 have succombed to the ruthless invader. He is this very 
 night, I know, desecrating the land of my birth ; but I shall 
 come again to this very shore covered with glory, exulting in 
 the satisfaction of having won for posterity the freedom of a 
 Confederacy that shall rival the splendor of Borne in her 
 palmiest days." 
 
 "Thar, thar; do shove the cunner around, Sammy. Gin- 
 eral Jackson and Pocahontas I don't be so lubberly. Look at 
 the fool stickin' his paddle right ahead ev the boat, as though 
 he never seed a cunner afore. Thar, that's a little better. 
 ^ow, put in your soap-stick and set her over to the sail so 
 it'll draw. So ' We'll drive them British from o-ur shores in 
 spite of old King George !' Now let her go fer Dixie," and 
 Captain Evans, who was a moment ago fretting and fuming 
 at the youth as if he could bite off his head, sat himself down 
 to his work of guiding the boat with as jollv a heart as ever 
 beat in the bosom of any old tar that saile I Ihe l»lue ocean. 
 
 Captain Walsingham raised his head and looked out upon 
 the dark water. The shore had receded from siglr, and the 
 great bay lay around on every side ; its deeper undula'T-ions 
 causing the little bark to rise and fall like a chip on the 
 waves. 
 
TOM nURTON, Ij 
 
 ^' Where do you expect to land ? " he ventured to inquire 
 of the old man. 
 
 " I are aimin' to fetch Lynn Haven bay, sir, prowided the 
 flood tide is not too strong, and doosn't cut us too fur uj) the 
 roads, toward the fort ; and prowided furthermore, as the 
 lawyers say, them ^ar gun-boats hain't a lyin' off thar by the 
 Rip Raps a waitin' fur we uns, we uns must try to arwoid 
 them if possible. It would be werry misfortionable to git 
 picked up by one ev them fellers." Then turning to the 
 boy, he continued : 
 
 " Sammy, drot your soul, don't set thar and go fast ter 
 sleep and tumble overboard ! Ef j^ou don't keep a sharp 
 lookout we uns will run hell-to-split right straight into one 
 ev them blockaders presently. Thar's alius some of them 
 lyin off thar by the pint ev the Horseshoe, a keepin' watch 
 fer sich as we uns with a plenty ev good whisky and quynine 
 aboard. ' We'll drive them British from our soil — " 
 
 "Do you think there is any immediate danger of being 
 captured, captain, " interrupted Captain Walsingham. 
 
 " I don't exactly know what you mean by remediate danger, 
 sir, but thar is alius danger in this business, and in these 
 waters, at sich times. Why, my dear sir, we uns is jest as likely 
 to wake up in Fortress Monroe to-morrow mornin' as in Norfolk, 
 and a great sight likelier ef that boy goes to sleep thar on 
 that thwart. But upon my honor, sir, this is all talk and 
 no cider, and as long as its gittin' kinder chilly out here in 
 this night a'r, with consent, Captain Walshingham, we'll take 
 a smile. Hetch me here that bottle, Sammy, thar in the 
 basket. That un what has the corn-cob stopper in it. Yes, 
 that's the one. Pass it to the gentleman first, and don't 
 forgit your manners." 
 
 The boy did as he was bidden. Captain Walsingham did 
 not refuse but drank heartily. 
 
 "Don't be afeard ev it. Thar is plenty more in the 
 bar'l.'^ The cavalry officer took a second draught and then 
 passed. "Here's hopsin we may hev good luck to git over 
 safe and sound." 
 
 "But do you not give the boy some also," inquired 
 Walsingham when he saw the old fellow placing the bottle 
 under the stern sheets. 
 
 "Who ? Sammy ! why, bless your sweet soul, it was a 
 mortal sin to larn that child to drink liquor. His angel 
 mother, my sister, would think her boy eternally disgraced 
 ef she war reware he ever teched a drap of the critter. No, 
 Captain Walshingham ; I drinks a mite now and then — nothin' 
 
12 TOM BVMTOK. 
 
 to say more nor a quart or sich a matter a day — ^but its as far 
 from my retention as the east is from the west to set a bad 
 example fur that boy. He's my lovin' sister's only son, as 
 I before intermated, and she's almighty 'ligious and particular. 
 It '11 do fur him to drink when he gits grown like we uns. 
 
 " But ! shaw, the wind are entirely died out and the flood tide 
 are cuttin us up the bay two knots an hour. Ef you will take 
 the helm, Captain Walshingham, and keep a good lookout 
 ahead, Sammy an me'll snatch the life outen her." 
 
 Captain Eevel Evans was a character. Tall, large, and 
 muscular, with a face like a Roman, and a hand and foot like 
 a Titan ; in disposition as docile as a child when not aroused, 
 in courage and endurance a Hercules. No man could be 
 better suited to the arduous duties of the occupation he had 
 chosen. He and Samni}^, his nephew, had been plying their 
 vocation for several months, buying supplies in Baltimore 
 and shipping them down to the eastern shore, taking them 
 across the bay to Eichmond and Norfolk in this way. There 
 was money in M'hisky and medicine ; especially in quinine, 
 which was in great demand in the Southern army. Besides 
 the captain was a regularly commissioned spy for the new 
 government, and carried the mails to and from the eastern 
 shore. 
 
 They were now midway between the capes, and the dark- 
 ness of the night had increased. 
 
 Neither from Cape Charles nor Cape Henry came a gleam of 
 light. The rebels had long since demolished these friendly 
 beacons, and only a light-ship anchored off the entran ce to 
 the bay, and a light-house farther up the roads, called the 
 Thimbles, remained to guide the benighted mariner. 
 
 Now and then the glimmer of a gun-boat's signal shot 
 across the water, or the fiery course of a rocket might be seen 
 cleaving the blackness of night with a meteor-like sudden- 
 ness only to disappear as suddenly, leaving the darkness more 
 intense than before. 
 
 The surface of the bay lay like undulating glass. Captain 
 Evans and the boy tugged at the oars. 
 
 "Pull away thar, Sammy; only don't make sich a racket 
 with your oar, and don't forgit to keep the muffled part into 
 the rowlock. Those waters are as thick with gun-boats as a 
 clover patch are with bumble-bees in the month ev June, 
 and thej'- kin hear equerlized to a black duck." 
 
 " Hold easy ! " hissed Captain Walsingham in a manner 
 as excited as if he had seen a ghost. 
 
 *' Hello, what's up now ?" demanded Captain Evans. 
 
TOM BUUTON. 13 
 
 "Just look there to the right," rejoined the other. 
 
 "A starboard you mean." Captain Evans changed his 
 tobacco, turned his head and looked in the direction indicated. 
 Then spitting spitefully between his yet sound front teeth, 
 said : 
 
 " A crusier ; and its rather misfortionable that she's comin' 
 this way." 
 
 " It's all up with us, I guess," dolefully suggested Wal- 
 singham. 
 
 " That mought be or mought not be. Thar are other ways 
 to kill his Satanic magester than chokin' him to death with a 
 ropeyarn, I'se hearn say. Lay in your soup-stick, Sammy, easy, 
 and you and the Captain jest dive down into the bottom ev 
 the cunner on your bellies while I see if I kin contrive to 
 fool that fellow, and work we uns outten this scrape. Don't 
 roach your rump up like a darned whale, Sammy ! Can't 
 you straighten yourself out like a lizard on a log in the 
 sunshine ? Down, I say, both ev you uns ! " 
 
 The fact was, there was at least four inches of water in the 
 bottom of the canoe which did not feel very pleasant to the 
 boy as he splashed down into it. 
 
 '' Lay low, boys ! its all-fired misfortionable fur us to lose all 
 this good whisky and fever-and-ager medicine. Them yellow- 
 finned Johnnies over thar on the western sho, stand werry 
 much in need ev both. Ef that gun-boat gits too nigh I 
 shall remit to the mighty deep, and then all them fishes will 
 go onto an almighty spree, sure." 
 
 As the old man ran on in this fashion he was lying down 
 low along the gunwale of the canoe watching the maneuvers 
 of the dangerous craft, and directing the course of his own. 
 with a short paddle which he kept for that purpose. 
 
 The former w^as evidently approaching the blockade 
 runners. 
 
 Four minutes passed with the tardiness of an hour, and 
 there was yet no perceptible difference in the relative posi- 
 tions of the two boats. Captain Evans' efforts very nearly 
 compensating for the forward movement of the steamer. 
 
 " She seems to be takin' her time, honeys, but she are 
 reproachin' all the same. May be I mought move the cunner a 
 little faster and tharby git outten the way of that Yankee." 
 Thus saying he gave the little boat two or three strong strokes 
 which sent her gliding through the water like a frightened fish. 
 But the effort did not seem to accomplish any good. The gun- 
 boat was still slowly bearing down upon them. She forged 
 ahead suddenly, and appeared to be going to pass on the port 
 
14 TOM BUBTOK. 
 
 side of the canoe, for she was nearly abreast of the latter. 
 
 "The only danger now is," whispered Captain Evans, 
 " that that officer standing thar with his night-glass in his 
 hand may see we uns and bring us to. So lie low, my 
 honeys, lie low." 
 
 It was impossible for Sammy and AValsingham to get 
 down any lower into the bottom of the canoe unless the^^ went 
 through on the other side. It was only for lack of ability 
 that they did not ; so badl}^ were both of them frightened. 
 
 But all their precautions were of no avail. The man in 
 the pilot-house struck his bell, and almost simultaneously was 
 sent over the water the well-known call : 
 
 " Boat ahoy ! " 
 
 " Stand up, men ; stand up boldly ! " commanded the 
 intrepid master of the canoe. 
 
 Without hesitating to consider the danger of the act, or 
 indeed knowing what they did, the boy and his companion 
 leaped to their feet. 
 
 " Don't be afeared, stand up high. Them Yankees can't 
 see your complexion. 
 
 " Boat ahoy there ! " was repeated from the gun-boat. 
 
 " Yes sah. Hello, who is you, Norf men or Souf men ? " 
 
 " Who are you in that canoe, there ? " 
 
 " We is cullud folks, sir, a lookin" fur de freedom. Please, 
 sah, ef ye be from de Norf, help us poor niggahs. We is lost 
 in de bay." 
 
 " What are you doing out here so far from the shore in the 
 night in that thing ? " 
 
 "Didn't we done told you ? Ef you be frens of de cullud 
 people, please take we uns on board. I say we is lost. 
 
 " Go to ," replied the man on the gun-boat. " You had 
 
 better go back to your masters. We are not here to look 
 out for niggers, If I catch you rowing about here after 
 this I'll run you down as sure as the devil's a Dutchman. Do 
 you hear ? " and with that the Yankee sailed awa3^ 
 
 " jSTow, sit down thar, Sammy, like a man, and giv it to 
 her, and don't be shakin' like a aspen leaf. Come, Captain 
 Walsingham, let you and me take a pull at the mainbrace." 
 
 " The cleverest thing I ever saw done in my life," said the 
 latter, after taking a long breath and a longer " pull " at the 
 bottle. " How could you take such a risk ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, them 'ar naval fellers ain't much on the 
 nigger question, nohow, so I took the chance. Ef you went 
 round with me and Sammy j^ou'd soon learn the ropes. You 
 must keep your wits about you, Captain, even if you is goin' 
 
TOM BURTON, 1^ 
 
 to fight a goose, which am an old saym', you know. Lay 
 back on her, Sammy, and I will resist you to rights." 
 
 Thus, by dint of drifting, sailing, and rowing our three 
 voyagers entered Lynn Haven, a small arm of the Chesapeake, 
 putting up into Princess Ann County, about ten miles inside 
 of Caj^e Henry, just as the sun was rising through the pine 
 woods along the shore. Here they were met by the Con- 
 federate coast-guard, which was stationed in this vicinity, 
 and, being conducted to their camp, were welcome recipients 
 of their generous hospitality, which consisted of a breakfast 
 of roasted oysters, fried fish and sweet potatoes. 
 
 "Xow, honeys," said the old blockader to the soldiers, as 
 he wiped the grease from his expansive jaws and hid a good 
 sized potato at one mouthful, " as you uns are not supposed 
 to be as hungry as we uns is, hadn't you better jest step 
 down to the cunner and fetch up them things what's in 'er, 
 and haul up the old critter under tlie cedars. I'm werry 
 keerful, you see, for them cruisiers out thar to be looking at 
 her through their spy-glasses all day. She am a purty craft, 
 and they mought fall in love with her ; leastwise, they mought 
 suspect somethin' wrong wiire goin' on, and come over here 
 and give we uns a brush. When jou uns hev done all that, 
 ef you will come back I'll give ye as nice a jug ev old Ja- 
 maica as ye ever seed. Yes, as good li(|Uor as ever ware 
 tasted by the lij^s ev mortal man." 
 
 All of which orders and promise were thrown away on the 
 soldiers, for tliey, having a j^erfect knowledge of the old man's 
 ways, had executed his commands half an hour before they 
 were uttered, and an ambulance loaded to its utmost ca- 
 pacity, drawn by two mules and driven by a negro, was 
 already waiting bj' the roadside behind the woods, so that the 
 old man had but to conclude his rej>ast by finishing the viands 
 and bestowing his comj^liments upon his kind friends, call his 
 two companions to follow, and set out at once on his journey 
 toward Norfolk. 
 
 Captain Walsingham was unusually bright and cheery 
 after a night of little or no sleep and exciting adventure. 
 The sight of Confederate soldiers, the first he had seen out- 
 side of his own little camp, in their fine gray uniforms, and 
 the truly stimulating effects of a cup of warm coffee, gave a 
 zest to this part of the journey that was so exhilarating that 
 he soon forgot the dangers of the past night, and, with only 
 the burden of the recollection of the dear one left behind, 
 heard the crack of the driver's whip with gratification as the 
 straining mules jogged off, and the old man and Sammy 
 stretched themselves out on the barrels for a nap. 
 
16 TOM BURTON, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Ix order to become better acquainted with some of the 
 minor causes which led to our civil war, as well as more fully 
 to understand the local differences which distracted that por- 
 tion of the country of which this narrative treats, it is proper 
 for us to go back a few years before the epoch referred to in 
 the preceding chapter, and review the events which bear so 
 close a relation to the work which we have undertaken. 
 
 Situated on the brow of a slightly elevated piece of ground 
 rising from the roadside of an old country road, in the county 
 of Accomack, there stood in the first j^ears of the sixth decade 
 of the present century an old frame building. 
 
 It was long, low, and narrow^, standing with its end to the 
 road, and having narrow windows with old-fashioned seven by 
 nine panes protected by wooden shutters, looked not unlike a 
 country schoolhouse. 
 
 It required only a glance to satisfy the most casual and 
 indifferent observer that nature had done far more to beautify 
 the surroundings than art had, in decorating the building 
 itself. 
 
 On every side of this prosy structure, even brushing its 
 paintless a.nd mossy roof with their umbrageous boughs, grew 
 majestic sycamores, w^ith here and there a sturdy oak, noble 
 relics of primeval days, the tender buds of which were, at the 
 time of which we write, just bursting into leaflets ; while on 
 the opposite side of the road, over in front, extended a dens6 
 forest for many miles. Immediately in the rear of the hum- 
 ble edifice, and flanking it on either side, was a graveyard, des- 
 ignated by some fresh mounds or old sunken pits, with scarcely 
 as much as a shingle to mark the resting-place of some poor 
 free negro or poorer white person. 
 
 The reader must remember that in those days rich people 
 had their own private burying-grounds on their own prem- 
 ises — out in the cornfield and sometimes in the front yard 
 of their homes, and only paupers were interred in the church- 
 yards. 
 
 Behind this ridgy and uneven ground there meandered a 
 crooked rail fence and beyond this spread out an oat-field, all 
 
TOM BURTON. 17 
 
 over whlcK the green blades of the sprouting cereal were creep- 
 ing toward the sun. 
 
 Following a custom learned in earlier days, when to be a 
 dissenter even in the conservative colony of the Old Dominion 
 was a felony, the Methodist people of this vicinity had built 
 their meeting-house in a lonely place. 
 
 It went by the name of Burton's Meeting-house, in honor 
 of the donor, one of the earlier converts to the new faith when 
 Wesley and Whitfield were sowing the seeds of Method- 
 ism in America, and whose family descendants are far from 
 being extinct in that part of Virginia to-day, still maintain- 
 ing their family characteristics and clinging to the religion of 
 their fathers. It must be remarked that religion was a 
 gloomy thing in those old days. It can scarcely be denied 
 that the Christianity of to-day is of a higher type than that 
 of a hundred years ago, that there is progress in ecclesiasti- 
 cism as well as in science, and that nothing so marks this 
 growth as the difference which we see when we compare the 
 mode of worship and the style of church architecture of to-day 
 with what it was in the past ; and to do this we have not to 
 go back many years. 
 
 The sombre surroundings and solemn aspect of an old 
 church in the Southern countr^^, its neglected graves, its 
 crumbling walls and falling roof-tree, carry us back to the 
 times w^hen religion was clothed in the winding-sheet of the 
 dead, and when to enter the door of the church was to step 
 down into the portals of the tomb itself. Thank God, men 
 now take a more cheerful view of religion ! Thank God, the 
 Christian church is fast losing the musty odor of the grave- 
 clothes it ought to have left forever in the empty tomb of its 
 risen founder ! But to proceed. It was Sunday. One of 
 those typical days of its kind, so lifelike and natural that 
 one would invariably keep it for Sunday even though one 
 had lost the day of the week ; a day that not only looked 
 like Sunda}^, but felt like Sunday. 
 
 Such days as these come in spring-time, after the lapse of 
 Easter, with its raw w^nds, and before the intense heat of 
 Whitsuntide, in which the blue birds begin to sing and mate, 
 the robins to think of keeping house ; when the mist begins 
 to shimmer along the distant coast line and the willwillet to 
 frequent the wheat-fields. 
 
 It was at this season of the year in the olden times that 
 the newly-appointed minister, fresh from his conference, came 
 to meet his people on the new circuit ; and they turned out in 
 their best " bib-and-tucker " to meet him. How the memory 
 
18 TOM BURTON. 
 
 of such days brings back the idea of turnip-tops, hog's-joje, 
 boiled chicken and bag pudding ! 
 
 But to get right down to bottom facts, this Sunday we 
 have been describing was the day appointed for the new 
 preacher to make liis appearance at Burton's Meeting-house ; 
 and, to judge from the crowds that were gathering, the whole 
 country had turned out en masse to hear him. Along the 
 road for miles up and down rolled carriage after carriage, 
 varying in style from a coach and span to an ox cart ; while 
 sunbrowned farmer lads on well groomed plough nags rode 
 proudly by, politelj' bowing to the blushing lasses whose gay- 
 colored ribbons fluttered out from under the rolled up cur- 
 tains of their father's vehicles, as they sat demurely by the 
 side of their mother with a sprig of lilac or china-aster in 
 their hands. 
 
 How the dandies increased the speed of their horses as 
 they approach the church ; coming up in grand style with a 
 negro hostler swinging on behind the buggy in his shirt- 
 sleeves and covered with dust and perspiration ! 
 
 Clouds of dust roll up along the road. Horses neigh, 
 mules bray, children cry, negroes shout as they ply their 
 business of horse-taking; carts, buggies, dearborns, saddle 
 horses, are crowded together in the thicket, hung up to the 
 fence all around the grounds, and even desecrate the grave- 
 yard with their incessant pawing. 
 
 Across the fields and along every b^'-path come the walkers 
 — old men with hickory walking stic;ks ; boys eating pop -corn 
 and walnuts, with which they had filled their capacious pock- 
 ets before starting; girls sitting down under the huckle- 
 berry bushes on the pine straws to change their shoes and 
 stockings ! Surely there must be something more than a 
 new preacher to call out so many people on this bright May 
 day. It could scarcely be the sunshine ; though God's sun 
 never shone brighter. It could not be the odor of hyacinths 
 or the smell of the pine woods. Had it been this or that, 
 what need should there be of groups of serious men standing 
 here and there discussing, as it seemed to be, one subject, and 
 evidently displaying more interest in some matter or other 
 than country people usually do in religion ? 
 
 Why did women crane their heads out of the doors and 
 windows of the meeting-house, and start as if with fright at 
 every unusual sound. It could not have been mere womanly 
 curiosity. Why did there stand at the gallery door, just 
 around the corner, a little out of the sight of the white people, 
 half a dozen old gray-headed negro men, wearing -well worn 
 
TOM BURTON. Id 
 
 swallow-tail coats and antiquated plug hats ; their ungainly 
 limbs bent with age or made crooked with years of unremit- 
 ting toil — why did these stand there as if they expected some- 
 thing great to happen, an expression of mingled pain and 
 curiosity depicted on their coarse, but benign features ? 
 
 Will you allow me to tell you ? The story is an interesting 
 one. 
 
 The feeling that slavery was not only wrong, but a great 
 sin, had not been shared by the New Englanders alone. 
 There were in early days — even in colonial times — as many 
 abolitionists who were really so at heart, and upon a matter 
 of principle, in the State of Virginia, as in Massachusetts. 
 
 Washington, Jefferson, Mr. G. W. P. Custis, and other dis- 
 tinguished master-spirits of the age were emancipationists — 
 some of them in theory, many of them in fact, practically 
 demonstrating their faith by manumitting their slaves — not 
 selling them because they were unprofitable, and putting them 
 into their pockets, but actually setting them free while they 
 were yet valuable, and their progeny likely to become more so. 
 
 What a pity this wise philanthropic and politic plan could 
 not have been allowed to go on and gradual emancipation been 
 promoted throughout the South, a liberal system of education 
 backing up the movement and paving the way to the civiliza- 
 tion of the race. AVell had it been for Virginia, if such wise 
 counsels had prevailed ! She would then have been spared the 
 agony as well as the humilation of having the incubus removed 
 by other people — whose fathers were equally guilty with 
 herself in the beginning — with force of yrms, and at the fearful 
 cost of rivers of blood and immense treasure ; and then to have 
 suddenly engrafted upon her body politic a mass of ignorant 
 voters, who had either to be cheated out of their newly con- 
 ferred rights as citizens, or else permited to rule the State. 
 
 But no ! Her people would have slavery or nothing ; and 
 any man who dared to say or think anything in opposition to 
 the institution was at once outlawed and ostracized, until it 
 arrived to that pitch that there was no mercy, here or here- 
 after, for that man who dared openly to assert that emanci- 
 pation was right. 
 
 Jefferson was remembered for his pure democracy, Wash- 
 ington for his patriotism and devotion to his country ; but 
 never a word was ever uttered about the views which these 
 great men entertained and expressed, on the subject of slavery. 
 So well, in fact, did men love the institution that Washington 
 and Jefferson might both go to the dogs, so slavery was 
 maintained. So strong indeed was this infatuation, that 
 
20 TOM BUIiTON. 
 
 men possessing only a few thousand dollars invested tlieir 
 all in negro propert}^, even after the alarming voice of war 
 had sounded the death-knell of the nefarious traffic. 
 
 The longer it lasted and the more precarious the tenure, 
 the more the politicians and law-makers tried to hedge it in, 
 and to run hither and thither, like frightened ants, whose 
 devoted hills had been invaded by some insurmountable dif- 
 ficult}', trying to find some means to preserve a social fabric 
 so rotten tliat, if let alone, it would have fallen of its own 
 weight in less than fifty j'ears. 
 
 But how came the church to have anything to do with this 
 matter ? and in what connection was it associated with Bur- 
 ton's Meeting-house ? Be patient, I will explain. The 
 Methodist Episcopal Church in America, of all the influences 
 which worked the final destruction of slavery, was, perhaps, 
 the most potent. At each succeeding meeting of its general 
 conference it formulated new expressions of antagonism, and 
 invented new methods of attack. The time at last arrived 
 w^hen Northern and Southern brethren could no longer dwell 
 together in unity. The Southern clergy raised the issue of 
 che divine right to hold slaves, and by a strict and literal 
 interpretation of the Bible, M^ent far to prove their point. So 
 well did they manage their side of the controvers}^, that the 
 Northern debater let go his hold of argument and fortified 
 himself behind the impregnable ramparts of the doctrine of a 
 "higher law," and from that stronghold, believing in the 
 righteousness of his cause, whether able to prove it by script- 
 ure or not, would not be moved from his trenches. 
 
 A division ensued, and by this division came a border. 
 Ecclesiastically speaking, the eastern shore of Virginia was 
 a part of this border. From the earliest days of Methodism 
 her people had been furnished with pastors from the Phil- 
 adelphia and AYilmington Conferences, so that, when the 
 division took place, tliere were many members of the different 
 societies who were averse to losing their old ministers, and 
 the ministers their old flocks ; not a few of the latter being 
 bound to their Virginia friends by ties, not onW of sacred 
 fellowship, but also of consanguinity^ 
 
 Party spirit unbecoming Christian communities soon be- 
 came manifest, and threatened to end in violence. 
 
 The Northern Methodists held out firmly. Those who 
 held to Southern views assumed the aggressive. Votes at 
 first were taken to decide how a church should go. But this 
 did not satisfy the public demand. It was decided that no 
 Northern preacher sliould exercise the functions of his office 
 
TOM BUBTOK. 21 
 
 in ttat part of the State, either in or out of the church, and 
 a band of men, containing some of the most influential and 
 important persons in the community, M-as bound to resist the 
 preaching of the gospel by men from Conferences north of 
 Mason and Dixon's Line. Old Burton still held on to its 
 allegiance. As if tlie spirit of the old bishops, nearly all of 
 whom had preached there, from Coke down to Janes, still 
 hovered about the jilace, and the voices of Dow and Hersey 
 still echoed in its walls. Burton would not forget her first 
 love. Here, in this old church, were a few names, even in 
 Accomack, who had not defiled their garments. 
 
 To fill the pulpit of this church this day the new preacher 
 was coming from tlie Philadelphia Conference, from whence 
 he had been called by its membership, and to tliis place the 
 mob had assembled on that memorable Sabbath to put him 
 out ; and if needs be, murder him. 
 
 The ground occupied by the church party was immediately 
 in front of the meeting-house. The building was already 
 filled to repletion by the women and children and the old 
 men of the congregation. These latter were there in the 
 amen corners praying for the safety of their beloved pastor, 
 and believing in their souls that God would somehow or 
 other deliver him out of the hands of his enemies. 
 
 The rioters had taken a position just over the road in the 
 thicket, where they had improvised a bar over which a negro 
 presided, and who measured out " Dutch courage " for them 
 at ten cents a glass. From this rendezvous they issued 
 in force about the time of service, headed by their chief. 
 He was both young and handsome. His blonde mustache 
 was scarcely visible in its faint outlines, arching a mouth 
 almost faultless in shape. His hair was a light brown, and 
 fell to his shoulders in profuse ringlets. There was grace 
 and activity in all his motions, and he turned now and then 
 on his heel to speak to his companions, or to cast a glance up 
 or down the road; there was occasionally displayed the hilt 
 of a bowie knife and the handles of a pair of duelling pistols, 
 confined to his waist by a belt of leather. He was the 
 observed of all observers. Curious urchins in nankeen 
 trousers, and fustian jackets obtrusively shoved themselves 
 through the crowd, that they might catch a sight of him. 
 
 Women cast furtive glances at him from the doors and 
 windows of the church ; some to shower maledictions upon 
 his head, and others, with tokens of admiration. He was the 
 hero of the day and played his role thus far gallantly. There 
 was no doubt of his superiority, compared to common country 
 folk. 
 
22 TOM BURTON. 
 
 His clothes were more in style and better in quality. His 
 complexion smoother, his hands whiter. Even the jaunty 
 manner in which he wore his sloucli hat, showed him to he 
 high-toned and distingue. 
 
 " He will not come. I knew he would not attempt to 
 preach here to day. The Abolition scoundrel knows better 
 than to presume upon the indulgence of a justly indignant 
 people," he said, strutting up and down the road, as the hour 
 for preaching began to pass without the expected dominie 
 putting in his appearance. 
 
 Standing near enough to hear every word he said, and re- 
 garding him with a look of undisguised contempt, was 
 another 3'outh, scarcely as old, of rough exterior, plain attire, 
 but comely in form., and with a face that was characteristic 
 of firm determination and natural courage. Catching the 
 boastful words of the leader of the mob, he waited for him to 
 get through with his little speech, and then, stepping up in 
 front of him, retorted : 
 
 " But he will come, Mr. Claude Walsingham, and he'll 
 preach, too, so you may bet your bottom dollar on that." 
 
 The eyes of the other shot forth flames of fire as he clinched 
 his teeth behind his thin lips and placed his right hand upon 
 his hip, too much surprised and too indignant at first to 
 reply. 
 
 A flutter of agitation ran through the motley crowd. There 
 was slight applause among the church party, but hoots of 
 derision from the rioters. 
 
 Taking a step forward toward his adversary, and curbing 
 his temper with an effort, he spoke : 
 
 " Who are you, sir, Mdio dares to speak with such high- 
 sounding confidence ? You had better go home, or J^ou 
 might get hurt. This is no place for such hobble-de-hoys as 
 you appear to be." 
 
 "I am Tom Burton, the Abolitionist's son. M}^ grand- 
 father built that house ; my mother and sister are in it to- 
 day. If the preacher comes, and I am sure he will, you may 
 depend upon it he will preach, or Tom Burton will be carried 
 home on a barn door, so I give yon fair warning." 
 
 " It is old Burton's son, sure enough," said half-a-dozen 
 voices at once. 
 
 "And a lad '11 do what he says everj^time," echoed another 
 old farmer, with a knowing shake of the head. 
 
 '' See here," began the chief of the regulators, balked by the 
 bravery of the boy as well as by the backing which was de- 
 veloping in his behalf, " we are not here to quarrel with you 
 
TOM BURTON. 23 
 
 cliurch people. Far be it from our purpose to disturb re- 
 ligious worsliip. We are law-abiding citizens. Our business 
 is ratlier to protect tlian frighten you. But we are deter- 
 mined your d Methodist preachers shall not tamper 
 
 with and corrupt our negroes. They are only here to incite 
 insurrection, and teach our slaves to butcher us.'' 
 
 " You lie, sir. The preacliers do not interfere with our 
 social or political affairs. There is not a shadow of truth in 
 your accusations. If they Avere tlie sort of people you repre- 
 sent them to be, why do you n')t present them to the grand 
 jury and punish tlieni according to law ? You know you 
 have tried that and faih'd. Xow you want to mob them. 
 Go, speak to your cowardly, rum-sucking followers, and send 
 them home and cease to profane God's holy daj' by disturbing 
 the worship of his people." 
 
 The Methodists had not counted on such a bold champion. 
 His burning words infused new life into them, Tliey came 
 running up to the scene from every quarter, creating a gen- 
 eral confusion, in the midst of wliich the rumbling of fresh 
 carriage wheels was heard, and the preacher, accompanied by 
 one of the official members of the church, drove up and 
 alighted. This timely circumstance turned attention in 
 another direction. Claude Walsingham (for it was he who 
 led the mob), sprang forward and seized the preacher by the 
 arm. He had not more than done so, however, before he 
 found himself crushed in the vise-like grasp of Tom Burton. 
 His hold on the preacher's arm was relaxed. His would-be 
 assailant had all he could do to protect himself from instant 
 strangulation. The promptness of the Abolitionist's son 
 alarmed the rioters, at the same time it had made lions of 
 the most cowardly adherents of the church party. 
 
 A scene of great excitement ensued. There was shuffling 
 of feet, scores of uplifted arms, hissing of oaths, and the dull, 
 heavy sound of sledge-hammer blows. The vast crowd swayed 
 like the tops of pine trees in a gale of wind. 
 
 "Down with him! Kill him ! Strangle the wretch !" was 
 heard on every hand. In a minute the doughty chief was 
 deserted. His affrighted followers, panic-stricken, sought 
 the cover of the woods, while he himself was writhing in the 
 clutches of the j^oung farmer. With his hard hand at his 
 throat, Tom Burton was choking the breath out of him, and 
 no one thus far had ventured to come to his rescue. 
 
 Sitting near the door of the meeting-house, intently watch- 
 ing the crowd in general, but the dashing young hero in par- 
 ticular, was a child, or rather a young girl, perhaps thirteen 
 
24 TOM BURTON. 
 
 years old. Her eyes had followed the handsome leader in his 
 every movement. She seemed to be perfectly infatuated 
 with him. 
 
 When the fracas began, and while it was in progress, many 
 of the ladies in the church fainted away, some shrieked at the 
 top of their lungs, and others closed their eyes and meekly 
 folded their hands in praj^er. 
 
 Not thus the little girl referred to. When she perceived 
 the helpless condition of her hero, her solicitude knew no 
 bounds. She sprang for the church door, leajjed over the 
 block at the entrance, slid through the dense crowd and forced 
 her way to the spot where the struggle was taking place. In 
 a moment she was clinging to the neck of Tom Burton, her 
 eyes overflowing with tears. 
 
 "Oh, please, brother, do not hurt him; he will go away if 
 you will let him. There, you have choked him enough. See, 
 see, you will kill him ! " 
 
 If Tom Burton had been struck by lightning, he would 
 not have been more surprised. At first he tried to shake her 
 off, but she clung to him all the closer and begged all the more 
 piteously for the man's life. 
 
 Her conduct awakened some sympathy in the crowd. 
 
 " Let him go. Burton. He's got enough," said some one. 
 " Yes, let him up," was the cry that went around, and Tom 
 Burton, frowning at his sister, spurned the cringing aristocrat 
 from him as though he were a serpent. Walsingham, still 
 panting for breath, his beautiful curly hair tangled and dis- 
 hevelled, his fine clothes torn and disarranged, and his throat 
 red with the marks of Tom Burton's fingers, picked up his 
 dusty slouch, and, bowing politely to the girl, retired amid the 
 jeers of the surrounding crowd. 
 
 The minister had in the meantime reached his pulpit 
 minus a part of his coat-tail, and mingling with sobs of emotion 
 and hallelujahs of rejoicing over their great victory, the very 
 roof of Burton's Meeting-house leaped to the voices of the 
 congregation, as they sang that lofty air of thanksgiving, 
 so old, and yet so ever new, " Praise God from whom all bless- 
 ings flow," and the trouble was, for the time being, all over. 
 
TOM BURTON. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PREMOXITIOX. 
 
 Public opinion ! What is, and what is it worth ? 
 
 Men have a great deal to say about " a decent regard for 
 public opinion/' as though one should do nothing at all with- 
 out first consulting that august censor of human conduct, 
 when the fact is, more truth has been strangled, and more 
 justice sacrificed at the shrine of public opinion than ever 
 fell a victim to tyranny, or ever was immolated at the altar 
 of ignorance and superstition. 
 
 Public opinion is " everything by turns, and nothing long," 
 To-day it is very conservative, to-morrow extremely radical ; 
 to-day crucifying, to-morrow applauding. 
 
 Whoever knew public opinion do any pioneer work ? Where 
 has it been in the great battles of progress, which have been 
 fought in the world? Not in the front, not on either wing of 
 the army. It has not even suppoi'ted the advance guard of 
 human thought. On the other hand, it invariably puts it- 
 self in the way, blocks up the road ; and not infrequently turns 
 awa}^ from struggling Kight, and makes common cause with 
 rampant Error. 
 
 Two hundred and fifty years ago, public opinion said : 
 " There are witches ; and witches must be burned at the stake.*' 
 And whosoever had the temerity to say : '• There are no 
 witches," had to be burned also. Sixty years ago it was 
 almost death for a man to be an abolitionist even in the 
 North. Now public opinion is just as sure that there never 
 was such a thing on this earth as a witch, as it is sure to-day, 
 from one end of this broad land to the other, that slavery was 
 a fearful curse to the country, and especially to that part 
 where it most prevailed. 
 
 Ever ready to stone the prophets, and kill them that are 
 sent into the world to redeem it from thraldom, this public 
 opinion slays its victims with merciless cruelty, and then 
 turns and builds to their memory the most gorgeous mau- 
 soleums. 
 
 This same public opinion crushed out free speech in Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 The little band of Northern Methodists were throttled as a 
 fowler does his game. 
 
26 TO^f BTRTON, 
 
 The old nieetlng-house was burned down, and its saered 
 site was left as bare and desolate as that of Jerusalem after 
 the ploughshare of the E-omans had furrowed its hallowed 
 ground. 
 
 One short year after the events related in the preceding 
 chapter and there was scarcely a man left to say, " I am a 
 Xorthern Methodist." 
 
 Tom Burton went down in the crash. Treated worse than 
 a free negro, ostracized and threatened, he gradually lost his 
 manhood, took to drink, became really worthless, and, finally, 
 left the country, going no one knew where and no one but 
 his sister Mary cared. His mother had died of a broken 
 heart, and Mary passing under the guardianship of an uncle, 
 George Mason, was sent to a boarding-school to become the 
 butt for ridicule and persecution tliere. 
 
 Thus triumphed the cause of slavery. All the better ele- 
 ments of society — the cultivated, the refined, and the Chris- 
 tianized classes — enlisting to serve under its banner, when, 
 in 1858, the feeling against its personal enemies uniting 
 with the dogma of State rights, arrayed itself against the 
 general government — a target worthy of its steel; and civil 
 strife had already been declared in tlie hearts of the South- 
 ern people two years before it actually broke out in the 
 capitol at Washington. 
 
 Patriotism was turned into hate ; and like men who, when 
 they drift from the safe moorings of Christianity, pass into a 
 condition of infidel it}^, so drifted this people into a condition 
 of moral and political anarch}^, fitting them for the worship of 
 any apotheosis which in its nature might represent rebellion, 
 and promised to perpetuate the institution peculiar to the 
 South. 
 
 Nor had they long to wait for the coming of the imperial 
 goddess. 
 
 In the politics of the nation, the Kansas-Nebraska alter- 
 cation, the success of the proslavcry party in the local elections 
 in the former, and the daring gallantry and prestige of the 
 Southern representation in Congress, paved the way for the 
 debut of Secession, and moulded into shape the chimera of a 
 Southern Confederacy. 
 
 From the national capital, the rapidly maturing monster, 
 like a malignant tumor, sent out its tentacles into States 
 and communities, fermenting the whole extent of the Sunnj'- 
 South. 
 
 Hostile legislation found ready supporters. In Virginia 
 every vessel trading out of the capes of the Chesapeake was 
 
TOM BURTON. <27 
 
 made subject to the right of search ; justices of the peace 
 were clothed with authority to enter into United States post- 
 offices, extract certain newspapers therefrom, and make bon- 
 fires of them in the public streets, and the militia of the 
 State was mobilized and put upon a war footing. 
 
 Such had grown the condition of things when, in the 
 course of time, the Fourth of July, in the year aforesaid, 
 dawned upon a country full of intestine strife and tottering 
 to an epoch at once the most deplorable, and, at the same 
 time, the most glorious in the annals of the world. 
 
 When it did come it found the people of Virginia less 
 inclined to celebrate it than ever before, if, indeed, they 
 cared to celebrate it in the old-fashioned way at all. But as 
 some of the young people desired to have an opportunity to 
 enjoy a little holiday, to exchange glances, and talk of other 
 things than corn and oats, and as one Hall, a school-master, 
 who was teaching a military school in the neighborhood, 
 wished to show off his boys in their summer uniforms, it was 
 determined to repair to a certain bluff on the bay shore, 
 known as Buzzard Hill (there is nothing in a name), and 
 then and there hold a Fourth of July picnic. 
 
 Ten days previous to this affair, Claude Walsingham, who 
 had lately been called to the bar, sat in his office at Drum- 
 mondtown, the county seat, reading a ponderous law volume 
 at his leisure. Drummondtown, at that day and date, was a 
 finished village. Not finished in the classic sense of the 
 word, but finished in its growth. The limits of the town 
 were as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, nobody 
 wishing to build any more houses, and nobody wishing any 
 one^else to come there and build any. The court-house was 
 there built at some period in the last century, the clerk's 
 office, a tavern, some three churches, and about two score 
 private residences. It is all changed now. The iconoclastic 
 steam engine has found its way down the middle of the old 
 Eastern shore, and Drummondtown has awakened out of its 
 long sleep, yawned, and gone to work. But the place is not 
 as aristocratic as it used to be, because the free school system 
 has been introduced, and the Chincotiaguers and Tangier 
 Islanders and the White Marshers have been taught to read 
 and write, and to know something else besides oysters and 
 ponies and sand hills ; and for bright eyes and quick intellects, 
 and good manners, as well as good living, one would not go 
 now specially to the court-house to find them. 
 
 But this is neither here nor there. Claude Walsing- 
 ham was sitting in his office^ and this was in the corner 
 
28 TOM BURTON, 
 
 of the old court-yard, reading as aforesaid, that is, lie 
 had been, for he was asleep now, sitting bolt upright in a 
 large arm-chair, with a table in front of him covered with 
 green baize on wliich was laid ample writing material, fancy 
 penwipers and some few pamphlets. Behind him, ranged on 
 shelves from floor to ceiling, were long rows of books with 
 leather backs, some old and some new. Growing by the 
 window w^as a luxurious willow, which drooped its modest 
 branches over the low roof of his stud}'. Some tall elms stood 
 in front of his door in the court-yard, in one of which a pair 
 of orioles were leisurel}^ feeding their young. The day was 
 very hot. The locust trilled his shrill notes, sighing away 
 drowsily as the day advanced toward noon. Altogether, the 
 scene was soothing and quiet, suited to both place and 
 people. It is no wonder that Claude was lazy and went to 
 sleep. The liveliest Yankee this side of Canada would be 
 as lazy in less than six months in that latitude. Neither is 
 it any wonder that he let his heavy book fall to the floor ; but, 
 it is a wonder that the quick, sharp howl of the red setter 
 that was also dozing at his feet, whose tail had sustained the 
 momentum of the mighty volume, did not cause him to 
 start. 
 
 How long he would have slept is an unknown fact, had not 
 another young sprig of the law sauntered across the court- 
 house 3'ard, and stood in the door of the office fully a minute 
 before exclaiming : 
 
 "Well, you're a pretty picture, sitting there asleep with 
 your mouth wide open, and the flies playing hide-and-seek 
 in and out of it.'' 
 
 Claude yawned, cleared his throat, and merely said, " Hello, 
 old fellow. Come in." 
 
 " With the Fourth of July not two weeks off, I should think 
 all young lawyers who expect to air themselves on that occa- 
 sion, instead of wasting precious time in sleep, would be pre- 
 paring their addresses. Were I the lucky orator, I know I 
 should," and saying this the visitor walked in, took a seat, 
 and began to fan himself with his straw hat. 
 
 " Who told you I was going to make a speech, Ered ? " 
 
 " Oh, I heard j^ou were." 
 
 "Nonsense. Let me tell you a thing or two. If you cared 
 as little for the Fourth of July or its memories as I do, you 
 would sleep too. I always despised spread-eagle occasions 
 anyway, you know ; and who has any heart in things national 
 now ? My dear boy, the State is ever}' thing. Do you not 
 Jcnow, that the worst thing which eyer befall this country^ 
 
TOM BURTON, 29 
 
 was the separation from the mother country ? Before God, 
 I had rather be under British rule ten times over, than such 
 a government as we shall have in America in a few years. 
 All this outcry about independence now, and independence 
 forever — this give me liberty, or give me death sentiment — 
 is nothing but downright bosh. We have too much liberty 
 already, and — " 
 
 " You're a devil of a fellow to be selected to deliver a 
 Fourth of July oration, now ar'n't you ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you, I shall deliver no oration that 
 I know of." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll change your mind in a little while. But, 
 how is this ? Have you indeed no patriotism at all ? Do not 
 the names of Wasliington and Jefferson and Henry, stir with- 
 in you the old feeling ? Does the starry flag, as it flutters 
 in the breeze, awaken in your obdurate breast no national 
 enthusiasm, is it possible that you are the man without 
 a country ? 
 
 ' Lives there a man with soul so dead 
 Who never to liimself hath said. 
 This is my own, my native land ?"' 
 
 "Jerusalem! old fellow; you roar like a Demosthenes. 
 But seriously, our government is nothing. It is all going to 
 pieces. It will cease to exist in less than ten years. I 
 should not be surprised to see a Southern confederacy in less 
 than five." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean that we shall have a divided country, and that 
 right soon. We have got to cut loose from that transcen- 
 dental free-love-puritanical-ca,nting set of negro-loving scoun- 
 drels at the Xorth, or else become their slaves. As for me — " 
 
 "Hold up, Walsingham, here comes a delegation of 
 ladies across the 3'ard They have been scouring the town 
 in quest of you for the last half-hour. I came in to tell you, 
 but forgot it. I'm going to take leg-bail through the back 
 door. So good-bye." 
 
 "For God's sake, why did you not tell me before ! " exclaimed 
 Walsingham excitedly, jumping to his feet and running into 
 his coat with a precipitancy something akin to the per- 
 formance of a clown in a circus. This done he made haste to ar- 
 range his clustering brown ringlets, but the attempt failed. 
 
 The fair clients were upon him. 
 
 There were four of them. Two of them he recognized at a 
 glance, One of these was a governess, a Philadelphia lady, 
 
30 TOM BURTON. 
 
 who had charge of the most respectable boarding-school in 
 the country; a thick-set blondish woman of thirty-five, rather 
 plain featured, with a kind of Queen Victoria physique. The 
 other was a Miss Moore, a fair and beautiful blonde, tall, 
 graceful, and captivating, with eyes extremely large and full, 
 and a wealth of brown hair which seemed to ripple in wave- 
 lets about a rather prominent forehead. Of the other two 
 the first was a Miss Savage, a young lady rather stout, and of 
 l^hlegmatic temperament, with no pretense to beauty or style. 
 
 The fourth and last was a young girl probably of seventeen 
 summers, small in stature, dark in complexion, retiring in 
 manner, but very handsome. Her dark eyes M'ere pensive 
 rather that brilliant, her forehead narrow, brows arching, 
 nose slightly acquiline with lips just thick enough when closed 
 to form an aurelean bow as perfect as that of tlie god of 
 love, and as prognostic of darts as the quiver he wears at his 
 back. She was presented to his lawyership as Miss Mary 
 Burton. Walsingham bowed an acknowledgment of the 
 honor, grew slighty red and remarked : 
 
 "I believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before." 
 
 " I have every reason to think as much, myself," replied 
 the young lady. " I was a child then, though," she added 
 with a slight show of embarrassment. 
 
 " Indeed, I have been your debtor ever since. And now, 
 without any desire to recall the unpleasant circumstance, do 
 wish to discharge that obligation as far as words are capable 
 of so doing," continued Walsingham, growing more at ease 
 in his manner. 
 
 Miss Burton blushed in spite of herself. But forcing a 
 smile she replied : " Beally I do not feel that you owe me 
 any thing. I was always a very foolish child, head-strong 
 and impulsive. You know young people often do foolish 
 things." 
 
 " Then if I understand, you mean to say that you would 
 not act in the same manner under similar circumstances ? '' 
 
 "Well, I should think not, sir. Of course, I would not. 
 What might be pardoned then as a childish freak would 
 make me appear in a very ridiculous light now, Mr. Walsing- 
 ham." 
 
 '• Then, I think, it's a great pity some people ever get to 
 be grown up. If I should ever need your services again, I 
 am sure I should wish such a child within the sound of my 
 cries for help," he said, teasing her. "But those old days are 
 past. Miss Burton, and we'll let them rest." 
 
 During this conversation all the ladies, especially Mis3 
 
TOM BTJRTOn. • 31 
 
 Blake, the governess, evinced an impatience they very indif- 
 ferently concealed. The latter had jDut up her mouth to 
 speak at least twenty times, but finding she could not get in 
 at the right place, she turned the battery of her eyes upon 
 her offending pu2)il with good effect, and finally addressed 
 herself to the young law^^'er. 
 
 "You are aware, Mr. Walsingham, we are going to have a 
 celebration of the Fourth at Buzzard Hill ? " 
 
 " So I have just heard a moment ago." 
 
 " And we are a committee sent from the ladies' picnic 
 club to tender you an invitation to speak for us on that occa- 
 sion." 
 
 "You do me a very great honor. Miss Blake, and I desire 
 that you convey my appreciation of the same to the club, 
 but, really, I must beg to be excused." 
 
 " Oh, please, do not decline," put in two or three ladies at 
 the same time. 
 
 Miss Burton had turned her face away from the others. 
 She appeared to be inspecting the law literature in the book- 
 case. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Walsingham, you don't say that jou wall dis- 
 appoint us after we have selected you in preference to any 
 other of the young lawyers inDrummondtown, and have come 
 all this long way to invite you. We shall regard it very un- 
 kind in you to deny us." 
 
 Mr. Walsingham held his head slightly to one side, and in 
 a half reflective mood replied to the last onslaught. 
 
 "I am sure I do not know what else to say." 
 
 "You can say 3^es," said languid Miss Savage, w^ith an 
 effort. 
 
 " And I am sure he could if he w^ould," put in Miss ]\[oore, 
 modestly. 
 
 Now, Mr. Claude w'as an acknowledged ladies' man, and 
 he disliked to refuse any reasonable request they might make 
 of him. So, while there was something in a Fourth of July 
 oration that was exceedingly disgusting, he began to take 
 the offer into serious consideration. 
 
 The Northern brogue of Miss Blake, it must be said, did 
 not help her cause any. All the time she was urging her 
 case, her bold manners and flippant conversation were telling 
 against it. Not that she, poor thing, had anything at all to 
 do with politics or the negro question ; nothing w^as further 
 from her designs. She would have married the greatest 
 rebel in the South, with a whole plantation of slaves, if she 
 could have done so ; but she was a Northern woman, and her 
 
32 TOM BURTON. 
 
 accent bored Claude. But, on the other side of the question, 
 there were advantages not to be overlooked. 
 
 Many of the richest and best families in the county were 
 represented in Miss Blake's school. 
 
 To decline was to disdain a distinguished honor. It was to 
 lose an opportunity to display his oratorical talents which 
 did not present itself every day. If there were not millions 
 in it, there certainly might grow hundreds out of it. It 
 was a small matter for him to reconsider his hast}'- refusal. 
 
 " All of you ladies have had something to say about this 
 matter but Miss Burton. Has my little protector no plea 
 to urge ? " saying which he turned toward the young lady, 
 who was still absorbed in reading the titles of the law books. 
 
 " Oh never mind me," she replied ; " I represent the mi- 
 nority." 
 
 *' It is to be a grand affair," continued Miss Blake ; talk- 
 ing as rapidly as a mill-wheel turns, treading every step 
 upon the sensitive Southern nerves of her listener's auditory 
 organs with her short o's and her French u's. Not so much a 
 celebration in the Northern sense of the word as a real good 
 time, with fried chicken, new potatoes, June apple-pies, and 
 pretty girls ad libitum J^ 
 
 " It must be admitted, Miss Blake, that you present your 
 case with the sagacity of an accomplished lawyer. You appeal 
 to the asthetic as well as the physical man, and completely 
 cover the ground with your sweeping argument." 
 
 " I, for one, do not see how you do stand it,'^ said wear}^ 
 Miss Savage in her most whining tones, as she fanned her- 
 self with a sort of summer-day air. 
 
 ''Well, let us hear from the minority now," said Claude, 
 again turning upon Miss Burton. 
 
 " She says, of course, just what we all say that jou. cannot 
 decently get out of it. So that's all there is to it," said the 
 school-mistress, speaking for her pupil. 
 
 *^ Well, well, I suppose if Miss Burton will take as good 
 care of me as she did on a former occasion I will agree to 
 accommodate you, ladies," he said teasingly. 
 
 Miss Blake was provoked at his constant allusion to what 
 she did not understand, and wanted to know what it was 
 about. 
 
 " Oh never mind that," replied Claude ; " it is a little secret 
 between Miss Burton and myself." 
 
 Miss Moore grew a trifle uneasy at this remark, and every 
 body seemed ill at ease but Claude, who evidentlj^ enjoyed 
 the scene. Miss Burton proceeded : 
 
TOM BURTON. 33 
 
 " I promise you, I will not attempt to play in such a role 
 as on a former occasion, Mr. Walsingham ; and if you are so 
 unfortunate as to fall into the bay on the Fourth of July, or 
 get into any other sort of scrape, you will have to depend 
 upon some of these other ladies to pull you out. They are 
 stronger than I am, and can do you better service." 
 
 Everybody laughed at this sally, except Miss Moore, who 
 maintained a dignified composure. 
 
 " Then we shall take back a favorable reply, shall we not ? " 
 said Miss Blake. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose you may. But you must not expect too 
 much. Eemember I am no Fourth of July orator. 
 
 " Let that be our look-out," was Miss Blake's reply. 
 
 " By Heavens ! what a little beauty that Miss Mary has 
 grown to be. What a pity she is a Burton. I could love 
 her in a minute, " ejaculated Claude after the ladies had re- 
 tired, as he threw himself into his easy chair again, not to 
 sleep this time, for it was nearly noon, and his appetite began 
 to warn him that in a few minutes the tavern bell would 
 summon him to dinner. 
 
 The two weeks intervening passed away very quickly, and 
 the booming of cannon in the morning awoke the children of 
 the peninsula that day much earlier than usual. They had 
 doubtless been dreaming of the holiday, not of fire-crackers 
 and bombs and sky-rockets, for they knew nothing about 
 these things, happy urchins ; but their heads were full of 
 Buzzard Hills, and picnics, and a good time generally along 
 the bay shore. They woke suddenly and joyously at the 
 boom of the deep-toned guns at Fortress Monroe, thirty or 
 forty miles away. There were some grown people whose 
 morning nap was cut short by the same cause ; for although 
 it was oat harvest, the weary plodders of the farm had agreed 
 to take a day's rest, and were sleeping late that summer 
 morning. 
 
 Great anticipations possessed the minds of all classes. 
 
 To the hard-worked plough-boy who had been fed for the 
 last four months on fried bacon and corn bread, with meal 
 mush and black molasses for dessert, there appeared visions of 
 long tables groaning under the weight of the most palatable 
 viands, such as roast lamb and pig, boiled and fried chicken, 
 and pies, and tarts without number, with frozen custard at 
 ten cents a glass. (They measured their ice cream in wine 
 glasses.) 
 
 To the half-grown youngsters raised in the high-woods 
 (the middle ground of the peninsula), the bay with its vast 
 
34 TOM BUBT.ON. 
 
 and sparkling sheet of water glistening in the sunshine, the 
 sight of crabs crawling, and fish disporting themselves in its 
 limpid depths, the privilege to wade with trousers tucked up 
 above the knees — this was sufficient for them. 
 
 But to the mind of the young fellow whose change of voice 
 had come over him, and whose upper lip began to look 
 downy — he whose inward being had been touched by the influ- 
 ence of the spring just gone by as the sapling had been 
 touched in the grove, tliere w^as in his mind nothing else but 
 fairy-like creatures clad in cambric, spotless and white, even 
 to their stockings, the odor of wild flowers, the smell of 
 acanthus and heliotrope. 
 
 And what w-as on Claude's mind ? — A crowd of listen- 
 ing people, rapt and spell-bound, as they listened to 
 the impassioned words of an orator about his size, the approv- 
 ing smiles of women, w'ith one small dark-ej^ed girl standing 
 afar off, in careless attitude, but cognizant of all that was 
 going on ! 
 
 But why go on to paint an imaginary picture when a short 
 ride from the interior of the county will take us to the very 
 spot, and w^e can observe the whole scene as it actually 
 occurred. 
 
 As we approach the bluff, driving down through a delight- 
 fully shaded woods road, where the scent of cedar and myrtle 
 fills the soft air, and the cooing of the turtle doves are forever 
 reminding us of the first lines of Bja'on's "Bride of Abydos," 
 suddenly'-, as we leave the forest, a magnificent view bursts 
 upon our vision. 
 
 The great Chesapeake, apparently'' as boundless, but less 
 boisterous, than the Atlantic, is spread out before us glittering 
 and shimmering, until it fades away into the purple and 
 gray horizon. 
 
 Rolling hills of sand, snow-white, stretch along the shore, 
 contrasting finely with the dark-green foliage of the back- 
 ground. 
 
 We find this much mentioned Buzzard Hill to be a low 
 promontory jutting outinto the bay, connected with the main- 
 land by a narrow neck of land, but containing in itself several 
 acres of ground, plentifully supplied with shade trees. We ap- 
 proach it, and observe on the bluff the white tops of some camp- 
 meeting tents, awnings, etc. A throng of country people, of 
 all sorts and sizes, are already assembled, conspicuous among 
 whom are fifty or sixt}^ 3'ouths in brand-new cadet uniforms. 
 Their preceptor is there also, w^earingthe shoulder straps. of a 
 captain. A flag is floating from a staff in the center of the 
 
TOM BURTON. 35 
 
 grounds. It waves fretfully, as if teased by the inconstant 
 west wind which flares up now and then with a will, only to 
 die away again to a mere breath. The day is very hot. Along 
 the shore the unhitched vehicles look like black beetles that 
 have crawled up out of the water, to dry themselves in the 
 sun. 
 
 A cannon — a twelve-pounder — has been hauled down to the 
 outer edge of the bluff overlooking the coast. It has been 
 unlimbered by the cadets, and is ready for action. 
 
 It is an old Revolutionary piece, has the appearance of great 
 age, and evidently has a history of its own. We draw nearer 
 and perceive that men are busy laying tables, and Avomen 
 spreading cloth thereon. Our visionary lads from the high 
 woods are already carousing in the water, some of their 
 apparel past condition for ironing. 
 
 Pairs of lovers carelessly saunter along the shore, occupy 
 buggies, or sit under the live oaks. Not many under the oaks, 
 there is too much company there. The busy governess is 
 flying around superintending everything, and anxious that 
 all shall be done " a la Phil'delphia." 
 
 The noon hour draws nigh. 
 
 Mr. Claude has arrived, and is gallanting Miss Moore. 
 
 Mary Burton is there also, walking along the beach, casting 
 pebbles into the bay, or sitting down on the grass, with her 
 pretty little feet dangling over the side of the steep bank. 
 She is moody and reflective, her attention directed to a white 
 sail becalmed in the distance, thinking, perhaps, of her brother 
 Tom, for she wipes away a tear. She wonders where he is 
 gone, and if he ever w^ll reform and come back to the Eastern 
 shore again. " God bless and preserve him, wherever he may 
 be," she mentally ejaculates. She thinks how lively he used to 
 be ; of his sorrows and his wrongs ; of the old meeting-house, 
 and her honest, pious parents whom she will never see again. 
 
 She thinks of something else, when Claude Walsingham 
 passes by at a short distance with Miss Moore leaning on 
 his arm. *' They must be lovers," she sa3^s. " I wonder if 
 they will ever be married ? " But even while she is putting 
 this question to herself she does not notice that he has led 
 the young lady to a seat, and, leaving her, is approaching in 
 her direction, until she hears his footsteps and looks up. 
 
 How suddenly the circulation of her blood is increased. 
 There is no appreciable cause for it, but her heart flies away 
 with itself, and jumps up and down as if it will choke her. 
 
 The young lawyer salutes her; and as he lifts his hat the 
 wind toys with his brown locks. 
 
36 TOM BURTON. 
 
 "What a selfish way you have of treating us all, Miss 
 Mary," are his first words. " You keep off here to yourself 
 and court solitude with the avidity of a hermit, Pray what 
 can be done to amuse you ? " 
 
 " What reason have you, Mr. Walsingham, to assume that 
 I am not sufficiently amused ? " she replies in a tone a little 
 more severe than she intended. 
 
 '•I trust nothing has gone wrong with you, I should be 
 sorry to know you were ill on this gala day, Miss Burton," 
 he rejoins." 
 
 " Oh, I am very well, thank you. I am happier when alone ; 
 that, is outside of a crowd. I dislike crowds." She evidently 
 tries to speak more cheerfulh\ '-Changing the subject, Mr. 
 Orator, wlien do you hold forth ? " 
 
 " The time is fixed, I think, at half-past eleven. I heartily 
 wish it was over." 
 
 " Do you really dislike to speak ? " 
 
 " It is to me a great cross, as you Methodist people some- 
 times say in your class meetings." 
 
 " You lawyers should not mind speaking, I am sure you 
 have enough of it to do." 
 
 "True, but that is a different thing to this business. In 
 the court-house we talk for money, and seldom have any 
 ladies present." 
 
 "Does it embarrass you so to speak before ladies ? Let me 
 assure you they are less critical than men. Flatter them a 
 little and you'll soon gain their applause." 
 
 "I can't say as much as that; but I do honestly believe 
 that ladies, as a general thing, forget and forgive much more 
 readily than men." 
 
 "But sometimes remember what m'c ought in justice to 
 ourselves to forget." She blurted out unthinkingly as she 
 cast her eyes over the bay. 
 
 "Will you hear me speak to-day ? " 
 
 " Of course I will. Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, I supposed you too disinterested." There 
 was a short pause. " After the exercises at the stand the 
 cadets are to fire minute guns," he went on. " Alas ! they are 
 learning the art of war full soon. I fear they will need all 
 the knowledge they can acquire in that line long before they 
 are grown. You, I believe, Miss Mary, do not take much 
 interest in politics ?" 
 
 " No. To one who has suffered as I have, on account of 
 such matters, that subject has nothing for me but pain." 
 
 " You are right, Miss Mary, very right, and I was wrong 
 
TOM BURTON. 37 
 
 to speak of it. "But in view of the past, and the prospects of 
 the future will you not allow me to be your friend ? " 
 
 "I thank you, sir, for your kindness ; but a friendless girl 
 above all others should never show herself a mendicant for 
 friendship, if thereby she is likely in the least to incur the 
 smallest obligation." She is not looking him in the face, 
 now. Her eyes are bent upon the ground. 
 
 " That, then, is why you prefer to wander off here alone, 
 I presume." 
 
 " Partly so." 
 
 " Then it ought to be gratifying to you to have foolish 
 people like me follow you out into j^our desert places, eh ? " 
 
 " A woman is always gratified when her plans succeed," 
 was her quiet repartee. 
 
 He is about to go on when she interrupts him. 
 
 ^' See, they are moving toward the stand now, and some 
 one is calling you." 
 
 ^^ Will you go up with me ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. Go on, I will follow alone. 
 
 She proceeds at her leisure taking time to ask herself 
 what there is in Claude Walsingham's manner or person 
 that makes him appear to her unlike any other man. What 
 spell does he possess more than others to make her feel to- 
 day that if the instincts of womanly modesty were not pres- 
 ent with her, she would, on a like occasion do just as she 
 did at Burton's meeting house ? 
 
 She cannot solve the problem. 
 
 A gulf as wide as Acheron and as impassible as the river 
 of Styx divided them. He was a patrician of the patricians, 
 a Bourbon of the Bourbons. She, the daughter of a plebeian 
 and an abolitionist. 
 
 Her pride rebels. She ridicules and contemns her soft- 
 heartedness, and she goes on. 
 
 The people gather in front, behind and on all sides of the 
 speaker's stand. The cadets stand in line on the right, 
 Captain Hall mounts the steps, comes to the front of the 
 rostrum and in a few brief words introduces the orator of the 
 day. 
 
 Then Claude begins. He is slightly embarrassed at first, 
 at least appears to be sufficiently so to gain the sympathy of 
 his audience, but as soon as they seem to be disgusted that 
 he does not proceed in a more interesting manner, he slowly 
 begins to open up his theme, as an organist pulling out his 
 stops, until not one in that vast crowd has any more fear 
 about their speaker's ability, or that he has power in reserve 
 to gratify all their rhetorical longings. 
 
38 TOM BURTON. 
 
 With his profuse locks gently lifted by the soft summer 
 breeze, his manly form growing taller as he rises to grand 
 and unlooked-for flights of eloquence — his gesticulation perfect 
 his finely formed hand, not widely extended, but sufficiently 
 unclasped to show its ample palm, giving to his sweeping 
 gesture the twofold power of husbanded resources on the one 
 hand, and generous impulses on the other, he carries his 
 hearers along with him from topic to topic, striding here and 
 there along the perilous peaks of oratory, or poising on some 
 beetling crag as overawing as the spectre of the Brocken. And 
 then, venturing to reach some toppling summit like a daring 
 Alpine hunter, filling all the people with dread of his doubtful 
 situation and bold attempt, and ere they have time to think 
 astonishing them by a leap so grand, that they hold their 
 breath, assuring even those whose envy he may have excited 
 that he has the ability to walk anywhere and everywhere — as 
 he does all this, the hearts of the multitudes well up into 
 their throats and the very bluff trembles with applause. 
 
 We listen and are compelled to admit that whatever of 
 calm dignity there may be in the speeches of I^orthern men, 
 there is something in a Virginia orator that smacks of the 
 ancients and carries us back to the grand old days of Demos- 
 thenes and Cicero in the Acropolis and the Koman Forum. 
 
 But alas and alack for such eloquence when it is used to 
 lead men astray ! w^hen it plucks out the eyes of Truth and 
 tampers with the scales of Justice ! 
 
 Here on this great day, than one more precious to the 
 world it were hard to find — here, under the drooping banner, 
 the pride and glory of the grandest Republic, the sons of men 
 have been permitted to gaze upon, here upon an atmosphere 
 made ambrosial by the breath of America's greatest heroes, 
 rang out even then the poisoned venom of rebellion which 
 found an ear as eager to listen as that of Eve when Satan 
 wooed her heart away from Eden's lovely bowers. 
 
 It was such eloquence as this, reader, which was destined 
 to change our heaven of peace to a a]mdemonium of discord, 
 and for four sad years to send red ruin forth to prey upon a 
 devoted land. 
 
 ISTo w^onder that from the time he begins to speak of 
 breaking asunder the Union of the States, the air grows 
 murky, a dark cloud gathers in the far west, and sullen 
 thunder mutters back a solemn and impressive protest as the 
 shouts of a crazed and deluded people float over the sleeping 
 bay. 
 
 Mary Burton had sauntered up to the place of all attraC' 
 
TOM BUMTOI^. 39 
 
 tion, and quietly taken her seat within easy hearing of the 
 impassioned speaker. At first she is not greatly moved. 
 She knows very well the sentiments and temper of the 
 orator, and she makes up her mind to be only a passive 
 listener. 
 
 But as the people begin to cheer and the speaker, himself, 
 catching the inspiration of his own genius rises to the pro- 
 portion of Apollo himself, the old feelings come back and she 
 longs to rush forward and throw herself at his feet as before 
 a god. She trembles, and before she is aware of it, is weep- 
 ing. What he says after that she knows not. All is con- 
 fusion ; and time goes by unmeasured. 
 
 The breaking up of the audience raises a deafening out- 
 burst of applause that reluctantly subsides, and the quick 
 sharp voice of Captain Hall speaking to his cadets arouses her 
 to full consciousness. The bo^^s move off in fine style. The 
 crowd follows. 
 
 Mary looks around like one awakened out of sleep. 
 
 Where was Claude ? She does not see him. She dare 
 not inquire ; and yet a strange feeling comes over her that 
 she must find him. She starts after the crowd. She has not 
 proceeded far before she is shocked by the intonations of a 
 great sound which shakes the ground under her feet and 
 enshrouds the bluff in a thick volume of sulphurous smoke, 
 which almost stifles her. 
 
 An unspeakable dread of some impending calamity seizes 
 her. 
 
 She has but one thought. Where is Claude ? She cannot 
 contain herself. Pale as death she runs forward into the 
 thickest of the crowd. By the time she reaches the place 
 where the firing is taking place, another and still another 
 explosion has shaken bay and bluff, and the well trained 
 cadets are swabbing the gun for another charge. 
 
 This time they succeed but imperfectly. They are grow- 
 ing weary. The boj?- at the vent has a look of agony on his 
 face. The piece is hot and burns his thumb. 
 
 They insert the cartridge and press the ramrod into the 
 gun's muzzle to force it home ; but it will not go. 
 
 Claude Walsingham, his face still flushed with the glow of 
 a great victory, is standing by the side of Miss Moore. 
 
 She suggests, " Can you not help the boys ? " Certainly he 
 can. He sprirgs toward the muzzle of the gun, but he does 
 not reach it ; with a look as wild as that of a maniac Mary 
 Burton rushes between him and it, her white muslin dress 
 smoking from contact with the heated metal. She clutches 
 
40 TOM BURTON, 
 
 his arm imploringly. He steps back, looks into her face and 
 frowns. A murmur of disapprobation runs through the by- 
 standers. Immediately, Captain Hall forcing back the boys, 
 seizes the stick on one side and a farmer's lad the other and 
 they drive the cartridge home. The unprotected finger of 
 the boy is raised from the vent and the very ground seems to 
 suddenly recede from beneath the feet of the multitude. 
 The whole place is covered with a pall of smoke. It lifts a 
 little. Mary is still clutching the arm of Claude. They are 
 both white as corpses now. There is a slight stir among the 
 people which increases to a panic. Something has happened. 
 
 There is an odor of charred human flesh and burning rags. 
 Men look hurriedly here and there. From the cannon's 
 mouth to the verge of the bluff lie shreds of something which 
 resembles clothing. " It is the wadding,'^ say some. But 
 what is that beyond ? " A human arm ! Great God ! " 
 Two men are blown into atoms. The old gun which had 
 belched forth death to tyranny at Yorktown had gagged at 
 the touch of treason ! 
 
 All this time the cloud has been rising. Its lurid out- 
 lines stretch from north to south, the whole extent of the 
 western shore, and now it strikes the bay. Its M'hirling 
 nimbus almost sweeps the water. An eygre soars white- 
 crested before it. A blinding flash of lightning wraps the 
 bluff in flame, and the tornado is upon the picnickers. Con- 
 sternation ensues. The spread tables are overturned. Horses, 
 wnld with terror, run up and down the bay shore, neighing 
 piteously. jSIothers scream frantically for their lost children. 
 There is a stampede for home. Nature revolts at the blas- 
 phemy. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SPY. 
 
 Remo"VED by the space of thirty years from the stirring 
 scenes of those rebellious daj^s, how amazing it is to contem- 
 plate the rapidity with which their events followed each 
 other, culminating at last in the war. Indeed, the period, 
 in its connections with the past history of the country, 
 formed one of the grandest chimeras the world has ever 
 seen. The gradations of that wonderful impulse from the 
 Fanueil Hall fracas, the day on which Wendell Phillips, with 
 
TOM BURTON, 41 
 
 a faith as steadfast as that of Israel's ancient haw-giver, chose, 
 like him, to suffer affliction with the peoj^le of God than en- 
 joy the pleasures of sin for a season, were as momentous and 
 as rapid in their course as a tidal wave, which, rising in th« 
 far-ofif depths of ocean and moving coastward, gathering 
 force and speed along its way, hursts at last in awful grandeur 
 upon the shore. 
 
 Everything was ripe for the C07(p de etat. The raid of 
 Old Ossawattomie was the straw that broke the camel's 
 hack. The firing upon the " Star of the West " in Charleston 
 Harbor was a natural consequence. 
 
 _ With a spontaniety worthy of a better cause, and really 
 giving to the general uprising a superficial appearance of 
 justness as well as necessity, such as characterized the revo- 
 lutionary movement of '76,'' the people of the Southern States 
 flew to arms. 
 
 There was, of course, some division of sentiment on the 
 border ; but in the heart of the Confederacy there was either 
 no Unionism or it was crushed out immediately. 
 
 The county of Accomack was the home "of the '^ fiery 
 - Wise." You might have counted all the Union men in that 
 county on the tips of your fingers. 
 
 Mary Burton's guardian and uncle, George ^lason, was 
 one of these. Though persecuted, despised, and counted 
 worse than a felon, he never gave up his allegiance to the 
 Constitution and the flag. Xo promises on the one hand nor 
 threats on the other affected him. Xor was there one par- 
 ticle of selfishness in his patriotism. It was not to increase 
 his wealth, for not only his property, but his life, was in 
 danger. It was not for notoriety, for no man was more 
 modest and retiring. Friends he had none, except it might 
 have been colored people. When visiting other people's 
 houses on business he was not allowed to approach the great 
 house. In bad weather he was sent on such occasions to the 
 kitchen.^ As a natural consequence his family suffered with 
 him. ISTo one visited them. Xo one invited them out. 
 They were relegated to the domain of isolation. Was a 
 member of the household ill, no neighbor came to assist or 
 offer consolation. The footstep of a friendly visitor never 
 crossed his threshold. The kindly face of a neighbor never 
 even looked over his fence. He was sneered at on the high- 
 way, and spat upon. Ladies turned their backs upon him 
 when they met him in the streets of the neighboring village, 
 and drew aside their skirts when they came in contact with 
 his wife at church. Parents taught their children to hoot, 
 
42 TOM BURTON, 
 
 to cast stones and rotten eggs at him, and to kill his live 
 stock wherever found. 
 
 Of course Mary did not escape. She was soon forced out 
 of school and cast out of society, just as a gardener plucks up 
 a noxious weed and casts it out into the ditch. 
 
 Farmers who owned places next to his sold their farms, or 
 moved away and suffered them to grow up into brambles. 
 The whole neighborhood suffered a blight. The sin of 
 Unionism, like the sin of our first parents, tainted even the 
 earth. 
 
 Did Mr. Mason feel it, did you ask ? "Was he a stone ? 
 Was the epidermis of an Abolitionist so thick that such keen 
 and cruel thrusts could not pierce it ? 
 
 Of course he felt it. Of course it was hard for him to 
 hold his head u]) when he went out into the village ; of course 
 he walked nervously and had a downcast look about him. 
 
 Did he look careworn and sallow ? Could he look other- 
 wise, when his children pined at home ; when his wife, in- 
 dustrious and patient as she was, found herself cut off from all 
 intercourse with society, and her daughters treated as if they 
 had been harlots ? People said he looked bad because he was 
 a bad man, and that all Abolitionists were white-livered. 
 
 The government has pensioned its soldiers, built homes 
 for those who are alive and raised monuments to the memory 
 of those who are dead ; but for those who suffered for her as 
 no man ever suffered on the battle-field, she has not even a 
 good word. The last man to attain an office in the United 
 States to-day is the consistent, original Union man of the 
 South. W^ell may it be said. Republics are ungrateful. 
 
 The John Brown raid took place in 1859 ; the State called 
 her convention in 1860. In the year last named the war- 
 spirit was rampant on the Eastern shore. Ten infantry and 
 two cavalry companies were formed on its peninsula. Of one 
 of the latter, Claude W^alsingham was elected captain. As 
 the war fever rose higher and higher and the contest had 
 begun be3^ond recall, martial law was declared and men and 
 property made tributary to demands of the military author- 
 ity. Considered as an enemy, the property of Mr. IVIason was 
 seized, until scarcely enough was left for him to subsist on. 
 His horses, cattle, grain and fodder Avere confiscated without 
 mercy. His pleasant farm, called Whitemarsh, was stript 
 of every thing. Starvation stared his family in the face; 
 diphtheria broke out in his household, and all were stricken 
 down except himself and wife and Mary Burton. Improper 
 food and lack of proper nursing swept them all off; save a 
 
TOM sunToiT, 43 
 
 little l)oy six years old. Three were buried in one day by 
 the afflicted father and an old negro man. To make it more 
 unpleasant, his premises were under constant espionage, and 
 one night, a negro, being intercepted in the act of taking him 
 some little article of food, he was arrested upon the charge 
 of receiving stolen goods and lodged in the county jail. Mrs. 
 Mason, now doubly bereaved, became herself almost a help- 
 less invalid. This placed a heavy responsibility upon the 
 shoulders of Mary, who was left, with the aid of an old negro 
 woman, sole manager and provider for the little household. 
 
 In this onerous position she lived without help and with- 
 out sympathy. Her lady friends had long since forsaken 
 her. "^ Claude Walsingham sometimes came within sight of 
 the house, but it was only to forage in the fields or the barn- 
 yard. 
 
 Once he did write her a note, saying he was sorry that 
 events had transpired which made it impossible for him to 
 maintain the intimacy which had been so pleasantly begun. 
 That by and by, after the present state of things passed by, 
 it might be different. That he was not insensible to the fact 
 that she had saved his life, and that he should remember her 
 with the deepest feelings of gratitude as long as he lived. 
 And but for her associations the ties of their friendship 
 should never have been broken. As it was he could neither 
 visit her nor be seen in her company. It Avould compromise 
 him not only socially — for that matter he did not care what 
 people said — but cause him to be unjustly suspected by his 
 superiors in the army. He regretted that a gulf so wide 
 should lie between two people whose lives, outside of politics 
 and religion, might have found, in a closer union than that of 
 friendship the only true road to happiness. So he spoke in 
 his note. To many girls placed in Mary's situation such 
 words would have been regarded as insulting, or as uttered 
 in tones of evident mockery. But not so with her. She 
 found an excuse for his conduct in his argument. It could 
 not be expected that he should associate with the family of 
 George Mason. She would not even so disgrace him if she 
 had the power. "It was utterly wrong in me, the daughter 
 of a despised emancipationist, to ever entertain the idea of 
 having a friend in Claude Walsingham," and saying this, 
 she laid the note down and was silent. 
 
 There was enough in her daily duties to engage her atten- 
 tion, and she tried to think no more of Claude or the future. 
 
 It came to be the summer of 1861, and there was no longer 
 any hope for peace until one side or the other of the combat- 
 
U Tom ^TTiiToir. 
 
 ants was conquered. As the autumn approached dangers 
 thick and fast began to assail the sea-girt peninsula. Between 
 the Federal gunboats — which found an easy ingress to almost 
 any part of the two counties, by steaming up the many 
 navigable creeks in both sea and bay coast — and the army 
 of Brigadier General Lockwood in Maryland, there was no 
 rest for the little army of native troops. Invasions were not 
 only hourly expected, but of daily occurrence, and to guard a 
 coast-line so extensive was impossible with so small a force. 
 
 October came in all its mellowness of rich maturit}^, but still 
 the handful of Confederates held out, and the military statu 
 quo was preserved intact from the line of Maryland on the 
 north to the point of Northampton on the south. 
 
 At Mr Mason's there was no change, except that the 
 health of his wife had slightly improved, and, with the hus- 
 band in jail and the troops having been removed to a point 
 near the border, there was comparative quiet at White- 
 marsh. 
 
 Mary was the woman of all work, inside and out, and one 
 evening, just after sunset, took the little George and went 
 down through the field to the thicket fence to feed some pigs, 
 which, by some lucky chance, had not fallen into the hands 
 of the soldiers or been stolen by the negroes. 
 
 " We are not so badlj" off, after all," she said to herself, as 
 she wended her way with a basket of shelled corn on one arm, 
 and the little boy toddling on the other side. " Men may 
 fight, but the world of nature is as peaceful and as soul- 
 sustaining as ever." And so she came to the fence at the 
 back of the farm, down through the cornfield she passed, 
 the corn all ungarnered and trampled down and overridden 
 by army wagons and cavalry horses. The western sky was 
 aglow with day's departing splendors, and the shadows were 
 creeping silently through the woods. As they reached the 
 wood's gate, a squirrel late returning to his nest ran by 
 chattering as he went, his long bushy tail and cunning looks 
 affording much diversion to the little boy. On the outside 
 of the gate was the pig-pen, and through an opening between 
 the logs of this, the shoats, six in number, crept to receive the 
 corn which Mary cast into it, the mother receiving her por- 
 tion on the outside. 
 
 The little boy had climbed up in the pen and was intently 
 engaged in looking at them crack the yellow gram, and Mary 
 was standing on the opposite side, apparently as much 
 amused, when, suddenly, from the depths of the dark forest 
 a man was seen approaching. His step was cautious and hi* 
 
TOM BURTON. 45 
 
 manner circumspect. He was attired in a long dark-colored 
 overcoat, wore a soldier's cap and the heavy boots and spurs of 
 a horseman. The child had seen and heard enough of soldiers 
 to be frightened at any stranger, and dropping himself to the 
 ground he ran around to the other side of the pen and 
 clutclied his older cousin b}^ the hand, beginning to cry. 
 
 Mary was frightened and would have made her escape, but 
 it was not possible, the man was too near, and to fly with the 
 weight of the child in her arms was folly, should the stranger 
 happen to have any evil designs toward her. The intruder 
 came up to within saluting distance and halted. Mary 
 now saw that he wore his beard long, and the visor of his cap 
 pulled well.down over his face ; but for all that, there was an 
 expression of friendliness in his features which went far to 
 reassure her. 
 
 "You do not seem to know me," he said, smiling faintly. 
 '• But I know 3^ou, and you need not be afraid. I do not in- 
 tend to harm you or the child." 
 
 There was a strange familiarity in the voice that awakened 
 in the girl a premonition of some great surprise, but jump to 
 a correct conclusion as to from what quarter it was coming, 
 she could not, for her life. 
 
 Then the stranger came nearer, and in sadder tones said : 
 
 " You ought to know me, Mary ; I am your brother, Tom 
 Burton." 
 
 Child, every thing, for the moment, was forgotten, as she 
 fell into his arms and sobbed and wept her very soul out for 
 joy. 
 
 " And mother, Mary ? " 
 
 " Is dead, Tom. Sorrow for you and trouble over other 
 things killed her." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand it all. I feared they would kill 
 you too, Mary, and I have risked everything to see you." 
 
 " I am so glad j'ou have come home, brother, but why are 
 you dressed in soldiers clothes ? " 
 
 " I have been a soldier for several years, Mary. I enlisted 
 as a private before the War, I am a colonel, now." 
 
 " In what army ? " inquired the girl with a look of anxietj 
 in her face. 
 
 " In what army do you suppose, girl ? " and opening his 
 overcoat, he displayed an officer's uniform on which were the 
 trimmings of the United States army. 
 
 Mary staggered back in painful astonishment, exclaim- 
 ing: 
 
 " I am so sorry, so sorry ! " 
 
46 Tom nuRTo:^. 
 
 Colonel Tom Burton laughed outright. " And what is 
 your objection, sister, to this uniform ? 
 
 " Oh brother, we have suffered so much ! " was all she could 
 say. 
 
 " Come, come, let us journej^ toward the house. We can 
 talk as we go," and saying this he took the child in his arms 
 and they went through the gate into the field. 
 
 " I did not want to see 3'ou a soldier, any way. I was in 
 hopes you had come home to stay with us. Besides, they will 
 kill 3'ou now. I am so sorry. But you have grown heavier, 
 Tom, and I know you don't drink now," she said as she 
 watched his firm step and steady gait. 
 
 " No, Mary, I am a man at last ; and only live to see our 
 family righted." 
 
 " But, my dear brother, you can never gain jour point in 
 that uniform. You will only bring upon us still deeper 
 ignominy and shame." 
 
 " Think not so, my darling. In this same dress I shall 
 triumph over our foes and vindicate the name of our 
 family." 
 
 Mary was still in doubt and darkness so far as being able 
 to coincide with her brother's views. It was in vain he tried 
 to convince her he was on the right side. A thousand times 
 had she rather seen him a Confederate private than a Union 
 colonel. 
 
 "What can you hope to gain by being a Union soldier? 
 Even should the Federal Government succeed in putting 
 down the rebellion, these people who hate us will never look 
 upon us again with favor, and having a new excuse, we shall 
 suffer over again what we have alread}^ experienced even to 
 a much more grievous extent. You will never be able to live 
 at home, and feeling their unmerciful ostracism in your sensi- 
 tive heart, you will go back again to the bad." 
 
 " Never fear, my good sister, I am safe now. I am pro- 
 tected by a power superior to all their devilish machinations. 
 They may kill me in batlle, but can never touch my honor. 
 Living or dying I shall hereafter be respected, because the 
 life I lead shall merit it, and the sword I wear shall enforce 
 it. I have at last got my enemies and j^ours where I can 
 push them to the wall, and reap my sweet revenge." 
 
 They reached the house. Mr3 Mason was rejoiced to see 
 her nephew. 
 
 " But, Aunt Mollie, he is in the Union army ! " 
 
 " And just where he ought to be, child," replied the old 
 woman, "How it would rejoice George's heart to see him/' 
 
TOM BURTON. 47 
 
 "And you say they've got uncle in the jail ? Best as- 
 sured, dear aunt, they will not keep him there long. You will 
 soon have him restored to you again, never to be separated 
 until death. Just over the line of the county we have five 
 thousand troops, and in a few days shall he down here and 
 set things to rights once for all." 
 
 "But, my brother, when it's all over, what then ?" 
 
 "Then, my sister, will those who have persecuted us be 
 dead or silent." 
 
 " Alas ! I fear it will never be in your day or mine," said 
 Mary, sighing. 
 
 " Do you think there will be a battle ? " she inquires as 
 they sat at the supper table. 
 
 " That depends. General Dix has issued a proclamation 
 calling upon the people to lay down their arms and return to 
 their allegiance. We are now only waiting to see what they 
 will do. If they attempt to fight us the whole country will 
 perish." 
 
 Mary shuddered at the thought, and Claude was foremost 
 in her mind. " But are you not afraid they may find you 
 here? Oh, if they did "— 
 
 The thought of her brother's danger had not occurred to 
 her before, and the pallor of her face testified to her anxiety. 
 Ko one knew the temper of the Confederate troops in regard 
 to their watchfulness and hatred of even those who sym- 
 pathized with the Union cause better than the two lone women 
 at Whitemarsh, and fearing death or some worse fate if the 
 young officer should be discovered and captured there, they 
 both began to be alarmed. In any event there would be no 
 mercy shown to him. 
 
 " I know I risk a great deal ; but, being so near you, I could 
 not resist the desire to see you both and know what was 
 going on. I will remain w4th you only a part of the night, 
 taking a short nap, and before daylight start on my way back, 
 my horse is tied up in the woods behind the field gate, 
 and I know the roads perfectly well." 
 
 Mary was rejoiced to see her brother ; but she could not 
 become reconciled to his being a Union soldier. 
 
 Neither was there solace nor satisfaction in the idea that 
 the country would soon be in the hands of the Federals. 
 Having no spite to vent or revenge to satisfy she had no use 
 for the means to accomplish these ends. She bore no malice 
 against any one ; and if left to her choice would rather live 
 in obscurit}', and even bondage, with the Confederates, 
 than be free under Union rule. Of course, she would have 
 
48 TOM BURTOX. 
 
 her uncle released and returned to his home and family; 
 but there was something in the fall of the rebel cause that 
 struck a sympathetic chord in her heart, and made her almost 
 wish for their success. 
 
 As she saw her brother to bed that night and kissed him 
 tenderly, she could not refrain from whispering : 
 
 " Tom, if Uncle Mason were safe at home and you were in 
 the other army, I would rejoice in my heart if the Yankee 
 army remained at Snow Hill till doomsday." 
 
 " You simple child," he replied, " by what strange in- 
 fatuation have you become such a rebel. I shall begin to 
 think 3^ou have a lover on that side if I hear any more of 
 such sentiments. Keep a good watch, and should you hear or 
 see anything call me at once. I shall not sleep very soundl}' 
 you may depend, for danger lurks where rebellion lingers. 
 A few more days and I shall rest as securely here under the 
 gegis of the government of the United States as I did on 
 my mother's lap. But now, a hasty nap and then away to 
 the Federal camp/' 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 " OH, WHY CAN YOU TWO NOT BE FRIENDS?" 
 
 Women are ever charmed with the pride and panoply of 
 war ; nor are they particular as to its cause, or reasonable as 
 to the end to be attained hj the wage of battle. 
 
 A dashing bandit maintaining a predatory struggle with 
 some tj^rannical power, or a gallant chief fighting for liberty 
 of conscience or freedom of native-land, are heroes alike in 
 her romantic imagination, and she will just as faithfully 
 follow the fortunes of the one as the other. Always true and 
 constant in her devotions, and never false to her choice even 
 to the last. 
 
 No soldiery in ancient or modern times was ever more 
 beautifully and nobly sustained by the smile of woman than 
 that of the South in the late war. 
 
 It might be truthfully said, that every man who went into 
 the field on that side either had his Penelope at home or his 
 Dulcinea at her father's castle. And just as truly may it be 
 written down to their everlasting credit, that no women ever 
 submitted with a better grace to the awful calamity which 
 terminated their Odyssey, and sent back their gallant 
 
TOM BunToir. 49 
 
 knights, stript of the regalia of war, and clothed in tattered 
 rags — no more to ride resplendent in the front of battle, but 
 to drudge to life's long and weary end abjectly by their 
 sides. 
 
 The camp of the Confederates was pitched a few miles 
 below the JMarjdand border, some twenty miles above the 
 Court-house of Accomack. Here, on the same evening that 
 Colonel Tom Burton appeared so suddenly at Whitemarsh, 
 was held a grand military ball. The elite of the two counties 
 was gathered there on that occasion to do honor to those who 
 were about to lay down their lives upon the altar of their 
 countrj', for it cannot be doubted that the rank and file of 
 that little army went up there to fight. They were few in 
 numbers, poorly equipped, many of them having neither 
 arms nor ammunition. " But had not our fathers so fought in 
 the great revolution ? God fought for them, and will fight for 
 us." Thus they talked, their own beloved Wise, always 
 eloquent, had told them to take the Constitution in one hand 
 and the flag in the other, and with scythe blades, if they could 
 procure nothing better, meet the foe, " eye to eye and toe to 
 toe, and clash the steel." 
 
 They took their crude arms and went; but alas ! they left 
 the Constitution and the flag behind. The ball came off. 
 
 It was not exactly the eve of battle, as it was in Belgium's 
 capital the night before the great Waterloo, but, in this in- 
 stance, " there was a sound of revelry by night," and there 
 were " fair women and brave men,'- and " soft eyes looked 
 love to eyes which spake again," and all such as that. The 
 Philadelphia school-teacher was there with another class of 
 girls, and scores of the fair alumnse of her celebrated 
 institute. 
 
 She herself ^ was frisk and gay, still on the hunt for a hus- 
 band, and vieing with the most engaging of her old pupils in 
 all those artful ways a woman of her experience and age 
 invariably calls to her aid, in order to make up for the lost 
 weight occasioned by absence of youthful freshness. 
 
 ^ Captain Walsingham of the Confederate' cavalry found 
 himself bored to the quick by what he was pleased to term 
 her " infernal blase,'' manners and " eternal clatter," both 
 ideas being in his mind inseparably connected with all North- 
 ern women. 
 
 Miss Savage was there, phlegmatic as ever, and moving 
 through the mazy waltz with an effort which brought into 
 requisition all the resources of heart and lungs. 
 
 Put of all the 3^oung ladies of marriageable age (and that 
 
50 TOM BURTON. 
 
 period comes early in a young girl's life in Virginia), who 
 were present that night, Miss Kate Moore was decidedly 
 the first both in point of beauty, elegance of dress, and pros- 
 pects of future wealth. She was the only daughter of one of 
 the largest land and slave owners in the State. It was hinted 
 by the knowing ones that his estate was heavily mortgaged; 
 but his roll of slaves was counted by hundreds, and it was 
 easy to turn those into hard cash, some of them being sacri- 
 ficed every year to meet current expenses and pay poker 
 debts. But the natural increase was equal to the current 
 demand, and the women being good breeders, with about the 
 same arrangements and care for the propagation of the young 
 negroes as was exercised in the barn-yard for the raising of 
 stock and for the same purpose. 
 
 Miss Kate was not only rich and handsome, but she 
 was intelligent, sprightly, and captivating — a young lad}', in a 
 word, to be sought after b}^ all the aristocratic young gentle- 
 man of the peninsula ; and so she was. 
 
 In this race Captain Claude was the choice of all competi- 
 tors, and held the fort of the young lady's affections against 
 all other assailants. 
 
 He chaperoned her at the ball and was so assiduous in his 
 attentions that all the rest of her suitors retired from the 
 field in disgust. 
 
 The poet Campbell was truly j^rophetic when he said that, 
 *' Coming events cast their shadows before." 
 
 Instinctively we feel the approaches of great transmuta- 
 tions. The two young lovers had that feeling at the military 
 ball that night; and impressed with the idea that their 
 time was growing short, they made up their minds to make 
 the most of the present opportunity. 
 
 By the hour of ten, these two individuals had ceased to 
 mingle in the dance, and had appropriated to their own 
 proper use and behoof the little latticed porch which opened 
 out upon the garden, in the rear of the old mansion where the 
 ball was being held. 
 
 The season was rather too far advanced to take much 
 stock in spooning by moonlight; but it was one of those 
 mild evenings in late October, that we call Indian summer, and 
 when the fires of love are burning in the heart, young people 
 don't mind the cold. On this occasion was arranged the 
 serious matter which in the first chapter of this book made 
 trouble along the bay shore, when a certain young captain 
 took a long farewell of his bride elect 9in(J went off to the wars 
 to fight for her, and their country. 
 
TOM BURTON. 51 
 
 Whether prompted by true love or convenience or mere 
 fashion, let no man judge. It is sufficient for our purpose 
 to say that Claude Walsingham and Kate Moore did then 
 and there plight their troth, swearing by moon and stars, and 
 everything else high and holy, to love and cherish each other, 
 so long as they both should live. 
 
 But even while they lingered an orderly intruded upon the 
 privacy of their little trysting-place, handing Claude a 
 dispatch. 
 
 Excusing himself, he took the unwelcome missive into the 
 house to a lamp and read : 
 
 "A Yankee spy, thought to be Tom Burton the Abolitionist, 
 has been seen in the neighborhood of AVhitemarsh. You 
 will take a detachment of your company and, if possible, 
 capture him, dead or alive." 
 
 To Captain Claude Walsingham. 
 
 Commanding Company A. 
 
 39 Keg. Va. Vol. 
 
 By order of Chas. Stith. 
 Colonel Commanding Confederate forces. 
 
 How inopportune ! Was it an omen or a simple coinci- 
 dence ? A day might not pass before a battle, and yet he was 
 not permitted to spend just this one evening with his sweet- 
 heart. But as in the story of Paul and Virginia, it was the 
 old man's voice warning them to separate — a voice that was 
 often heard in those days, and in many cases only a substitute 
 for the more solemn summons of the old rattling, rol- 
 licking man of bones with his ghastl}^ smile and glistening 
 sickle. As anxious to distinguish himself in his profession 
 as to distance his rivals in the more bloodless campaign of 
 courtship, Captain Claude bade Miss Moore a hasty good- 
 night, telling her that important business called him away 
 from her dear side and the joyous festivities of the hour, and 
 drove to his head-quarters, where, selecting eight of his best 
 men, he set off in a swinging gallop in the direction of White- 
 marsh. 
 
 It was after two o'clock in the morning when, with foaming 
 steeds, the detachment reached the house where the bold spy 
 M\is locked in the embraces of Morpheus, as securely as was 
 Sampson when the treacherous Delilah delivered him over 
 to the Philistines to be shorn of his puissant locks. Fast as 
 the chief of the little band had ridden, his thoughts had run 
 faster still of Mary and all her kindness and all her suffering, 
 and although he hated Tom Burton more than he did any 
 
52 TOM BUBTON. 
 
 other living man, lie resolved to spare him if he could for his 
 sister's sake. 
 
 So he did not allow his men to enter the gate, but halted 
 them on the outside while he rode up alone to the house. 
 First, going to the kitchen, he waked up the negress, 
 who reluctantly admitted him ; standing before the hearth 
 on which blazed a lightwood knot, he took out his pencil and 
 wrote on a small piece of blank paper : 
 
 " If Mr. Tom Burton is in the house and will permit me to 
 see him, I can save his life ; otherwise I must not be held 
 responsible or blamed if anything of a serious nature should 
 happen to him. 
 
 " Claude Walsixgham." 
 
 " Here," he said, handing the note to the old woman, ^' take 
 this into the house quietly, give it to your Miss Mary and 
 say the gentleman is waiting for an answer. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Yes, sah ! '^ 
 
 "Then get along quick or I'll cut your head off. But be 
 sure to make no noise." 
 
 The old woman made no delay, Mary was easily awakened. 
 In fact it is doubtful if she had slept at all. The instant the 
 old servant called she knew her fears "had boded all too 
 true." Her first thought was, "my brother is surprised and 
 lost." She snatched the note hastily, and read it, tears already 
 in her e\^es. 
 
 By this time Colonel Burton himself was downstairs and 
 at her side. She handed him the note, trembling from head 
 to foot. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed my sister. Go put on a dress as quick 
 as possible. We may need you." 
 
 Mary obeyed mechanically. 
 
 The Union officer took his pencil and wrote on the back 
 of Claude's missive." 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Burton is not here ; but Colonel Thomas 
 Burton is, and at your service." 
 
 Passing the scrap of paper to the old woman he bade her 
 take it back to the waiting gentleman. 
 
 In a minute Claude knocked at the door, and Colonel 
 Burton told him to walk in. The latter had examined his 
 pistols and laid them on a table at his side. 
 
 "Ah, I see you are prepared for emergency," exclaimed 
 the Confederate, as he entered the room. 
 
 " It is only a precaution, sir, my profession teaches me. 
 But, since you seem to be on a peaceful mission, I shall re- 
 
place my weapons, and meet you without suspicion or 
 reserve." 
 
 " Then, I have the pleasure of meeting Colonel Tom Bur- 
 ton ? " ■ 
 
 '•You have, sir; and it has been many days since we saw 
 each other last." 
 
 " It has ; our meeting then was under different circum^ 
 stances." 
 
 " So it was, Captain Walsingham ; and '' 
 
 " And I told you then, if you remember, what your Aboli- 
 tion friends would bring us to," interrupted Claude. He 
 went on : " I should think the condition in which you find 
 your poor sister and her friends would touch your heart, and 
 cause you to realize in some degree the ruin your false teach- 
 ing has already wrought." 
 
 As he talked Colonel Burton sat quietly regarding his 
 old adversary with a look of half contempt and half anger. 
 As Claude finished his last remarks, Mary entered the room. 
 Her features betrayed the alarm she felt, but her soft dark 
 eyes were full of pleading. 
 
 " So you blame me for it all, do you, Claude Walsingham? 
 Let me put a plain question to you." 
 
 " Speak on, sir." 
 
 " Have you nothing to reproach yourself for ? Is it you 
 or I, who has visited upon the gentle and unoffending per- 
 son you named, and many others like her, all these troubles 
 you refer to ? Who but you and your infamous clique has 
 done it ? It is like jouv persecution of innocent preachers. 
 Little wonder is there, however, that men who can fight for 
 slavery can feel any compunction of conscience for the op- 
 pressed. Shame, shame on you, Claude Walsingham, to be 
 so near these helpless women and see them treated thus, and 
 never give them a helping hand." 
 
 The old Burton blood was thoroughly aroused. Colonel 
 Tom's eyes flashed like meteors. 
 
 " Do not tempt me, sir ; your words are hot and insulting 
 for a prisoner, and you may be sure I would not stand and 
 take them were you not in my power. You must not pre- 
 sume too much upon the presence of your sister and my 
 friendship for her." 
 
 "Friendship!" repeated Colonel Burton, with a sneer of 
 derision. 
 
 " Remember, Tom Burton, you are my prisoner and your 
 liberty, ay, sir, your life, is at my option. This house is sur- 
 rounded by a detachment of my company, and at a moment's 
 warning your fate is sealed." 
 
54 TOM BUBTON. 
 
 " Ha, ha," laughed the Union officer. "You doughty Con- 
 federates cannot stand the onslaught of truth quite as well 
 as you can the smell of gunpowder. You are brave, I know, 
 in one sense — cowards in another." 
 
 Claude grasped his pistol. 
 
 "Nobody but a man in your situation could talk to me 
 thus, and in that hated uniform, which in your case clothes 
 a worthless renegade." 
 
 Mary was already standing between them. " Who shoots 
 first, slays me," she said. Claude continued: 
 
 "This parleying with a prisoner is unparalleled in the 
 annals of warfare. 1 have already been too lenient." 
 
 " Claude Walsingham," replied the other, more calmly than 
 he even thought he could speak, "I am here at your service. 
 You ma}'^ proceed with me as you see fit. If I was born to 
 be killed in this wretched and fratricidal war, I can die in 
 no better place than among the only friends I have on earth, 
 and by no better hands that I know of." 
 
 " Please, gentlemen, do not talk in this way. I had rather 
 die myself than see j'ou two forever enemies. You are both 
 Virginians, both brave men, both white men. Why cannot 
 you two be friends ? " 
 
 "Because," said Claude, "your brother is an Abolitionist 
 and a renegade." 
 
 "Because," replied Colonel Burton, ^' jowx friend is a 
 Bourbon and a rebel." 
 
 They both moved toward each other. Mary held up her 
 hands in pitiable attitude. 
 
 "Whatever you may be to me Miss BLirton, you ought to 
 remember one thing, and that is, no man who wears that 
 uniform can beard me thus." 
 
 " Ha, ha," laughed Burt(m, again growing cooler ; "you shall 
 see the day you will respect it, and on my body too. If you 
 are as brave as Southern men generally are, and will have 
 your troop show me fair play you shall not be in waiting 
 long for that time to arrive." 
 
 " Brother ! Captain Walsingham ! if you have any respect 
 or love for me, if either of you cherishes one pleasant memory 
 of the past or my former solicitude for the well-being of both 
 of you, spare each other — spare my brother. Captain Walsing- 
 ham." The pleading eloquence of the beautiful girl touched 
 them both. 
 
 " It was my purpose, Miss Burton, as Heaven is niy wit- 
 ness, to do so ; but — " 
 
 " Then come this way — Tom — come with me, — ^leave, fly — " 
 
TOM BURTON. oij 
 
 "Fly, sister ? You know not what you say " exclaimed the 
 Federal colonel, indignantly. 
 
 "But, brother, that cannot compromise your bravery. 
 Come, for God's sake ! '^ 
 
 "She says rightly,'' added Walsingham. '' To obey her is 
 not cowardice. Mark me, I go for my men. They are at the 
 gate. I shall submit to no more temporizing. If you re- 
 main in this house until I return I shall arrest you as a 
 spy, and you will die an ignominious death as you desire. 
 For your sister's sake, I offer you this one more chance ; " 
 and without another word he bowed to Mary and walked out 
 of the room. 
 
 "Now, brother — darling Tom, now is your time. Fly, 
 fly for your poor sister's sake ! Come this way." She forced 
 him toward the door. He halted moodily. 
 
 " It is dishonorable. I will not run," he said doggedly. 
 
 "]^ot for my sake, Tom ? Look at me, think how long I 
 have suffered — see how I am dying for you — " 
 
 " Yes, that is why I crave vengeance." 
 
 "But you cannot get it here. Live, live, Tom, to seek it in 
 some way when your sister's life will not pay the forfeit. 
 Oh, I hear their horses' hoofs. My God, they are in the yard. 
 Oh, Tom, have you no love forme ? Has your country no fur- 
 ther use for your service? See our dear mother from Heaven — " 
 
 At the mention of his mother's name Burton started as 
 if shot. His countenance changed. He stared deep down 
 into the depths of her dark eyes, limpid with tears, as if he 
 saw the sacred face of the dead one there. 
 
 Mary had finished her entreaties, and was sinking to the 
 floor. The soldiers were in front of the house. Imprinting 
 an impassioned kiss on the almost inanimate lips of the girl, 
 he seized his pistols, one in each hand, and leaped out into 
 the back y-ard. 
 
 A dozen shots went whizzing after him. Two were re- 
 turned, and as many men reeled out of their saddles. 
 
 "Damnation!" exclaimed Captain Walsingham, "'he has 
 killed two of my men. Pursue him ! — head him off! Show 
 him no quarter ! — take him dead or alive ! " 
 
 The command was futile. Before the soldiers couldrecover 
 from the shock occasioned by the fall of their two comrades, 
 throw down the fence and enter the cornfield into which 
 the lucky Colonel had fled, he was out of sight and his where- 
 abouts uncertain. Behind the shadow of the out-buildings 
 he doubled, came back into the yard, walked leisurely out to 
 the road, and turning into the thicket a short distance below 
 the house, sought his horse in the woods, reloaded his pistols. 
 
56 TOM BURTON. 
 
 and taking an untraveled "by-way jogged quietly on to Snow 
 Hill, while his infuriated and disappointed assailants were 
 vainly scouring the cornfield, cursing the good fortune that 
 had kept him out of their clutches. 
 
 Mrs. Mason coming to Mary's assistance, found her return- 
 ing to consciousness. 
 
 '' Oh, is brother safe, dear Aunty ? Tell me ! " 
 
 ^^ God grant he is. Did you hear the firing and the curses ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes ! Heaven save my dear. Tom ! '^ 
 
 "Heaven will, my child." 
 
 "And Claude—" 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 THE XEW REGIME. 
 
 The military venture of the people of the Eastern Shore 
 was destined to end in little bloodshed and less glory. 
 
 Eailing to obtain reinforcements from General Magruder 
 at Yorktown, assailed in front and rear and flank, the 
 little heterogeneous camp broke up, the greater part of the 
 soldiers throwing down their arms, and, accepting of General 
 Dix's generous proclamation, returning to their homes. 
 Some, among them Claude AYalsingham, as we have already 
 seen in the first chapter, escaping to the AYestern Shore. 
 
 It was toward the end of JSTovember, 1861, when down came 
 the army of occupation with all the pomp and eclat of an easy 
 victor3^ 
 
 It came, like any other arm3',flushed with success, confident, 
 bold and boisterous, striking terror to the hearts of non-com- 
 batants, foraging the countr}^ for sup2:)lies, paying in promises 
 to be realized after days of trouble in proving accounts, ar* 
 resting all who dared express sympathy for the cause of re- 
 bellion, digging up buried Confederate, flags even searching 
 for them under the petticoats of recalcitrant females, and com- 
 mitting a thousand and one other acts of annoyance to the 
 subjugated people they had come among. Many of these had 
 friends and relatives on the other side, and were in almost 
 weekly communication with them by means of blockade run- 
 ning, which was carried on extensively^ on account of the large 
 profits it offered to the hardy men engaged in it. 
 
TOM BURTON. 57 
 
 Many were the families compromised hy this means, when- 
 ever an unfortunate blockader was captured ; and arrests, 
 quickly following, kept the old jail at the court-house full of 
 political prisoners. These difficulties, of considerable moment 
 at first, became less frequent, under the searching espionage of 
 the military authorities, and as the theatre of war became re- 
 moved farther away, almost ceased before the end of the 
 struggle. 
 
 The gory tide of battle rolled on, the absent ones came 
 not back. 
 
 Society on the Eastern Shore went into winter quarters, on 
 the advent of the northern troops, not to hibernate for a sea- 
 son, but upon conditions similar to those upon which the 
 flower of the community had enlisted, to wit : for three years 
 or the war. As a snail will draw itself up in its shell and re- 
 fuse to come out, so the disgruntled people of the peninsula 
 shut themselves up in their houses and refused to be com- 
 forted because their loved ones were not at home. The doors 
 of the churches were closed, the usual winter amusements 
 neglected. 
 
 Outside of the usual excitement about the Federal camp, 
 to which all the negroes in the two counties fled in hope of 
 gaining their freedom, and to offer their services for camp 
 duties, the gloom and silence of the grave settled down upon 
 the place, at least for that winter. 
 
 To the mind of Mary Burton, so long harassed by doubts 
 and fears, and oppressed by misfortunes growing out of the 
 position of her family in society, there came no relief with 
 the advent of her protection. Like the stupefied prisoner who 
 from long imprisonment had become so accustomed to his 
 dungeon that he at last preferred it to freedom, so she could 
 find no solace in the new order of things. 
 
 True, her uncle was released and come home to rehabilitate 
 his naked farm ; there was joy at Whitemarsh, but Mary still 
 sat in the darkness and shadow of death. How could she, as 
 she was constituted, rejoice in that one single ray of happiness, 
 and all the shore wrapped in mourning ? 
 
 It was bad enough, truly, to be ostracized and deserted, 
 but to see other people miserable did not relieve her, but 
 only added another sorrow, that of sympathy and commisera- 
 tion. 
 
 Of all the arguments against eternal future punishment 
 and full knowledge of everything by those in Heaven, that is 
 the strongest, which by its very absurdity supposes no pang 
 for the sufferings of the damned in Hell. 
 
58 TOM BURTON-, 
 
 What was life worth to Mary Burton, if all the world else 
 was in torment ? Under such circumstances Paradise itself 
 were as bleak and barren as a desert waste, and as cold and 
 cheerless to her, as though she walked along the glittering 
 halls of some stupendous ice palace, peopled with the pallid 
 and speechless ghosts of the dead. 
 
 "Alas ! Tom, I sometimes feel, however strange it may ap- 
 pear to you, it had been better if you had remained up there 
 in Maryland and let our own jjeople alone. There is such a 
 dearth of everything that is compensation to the spirit of one 
 who has always sought her own happiness as I have in the 
 reflection which flowed from that of others." So she felt and 
 so she talked, while her brother laughed at her folly, and 
 chided her morbid sentiments ; all of which did no good, for 
 Mary was, like everybody else, bereft ; the new order of 
 affairs not only failing to give back to her her former friends, 
 but making them more and more estranged. 
 
 It was a week or so after the occupation of the county by 
 the Federals, that a buggy containing an old gentleman and 
 a young lady drove up to the head-quarters of the command- 
 ing general. 
 
 " You will hold the mare, Kate, while I go and see Mm. 
 You will have to watch her carefully, for you know she does 
 not like those blue-coats any more than 3'ou or I," said the old 
 gentleman as he scuffled out in front of the gate that opened 
 into the grounds of a magnificent residence which had been 
 confiscated and appropriated for military j)urposes, and was 
 the head-quarters above referred to. 
 
 " If she hated them as much as I do, she would kick every 
 one that comes within her reach, I'm sure. Take care, 
 papa, and don't get into any difficulty." 
 
 " So, so, daughter, I shall do the best I can ; but I hav'n't 
 got long to live, anyhow, and if they kill me they'll be 
 doing me a service, since they've taken all my niggers, and 
 most all of my corn and fodder." 
 
 "I do declare, I get out of all patience whenever I have to 
 look at one of them. Never mind, Mr. Blue Coats, our boys 
 will come back from Dixie some of these davs, and make you 
 skedaddle, I'll bet." 
 
 Then, as if ashamed of her own slang, she sat herself back 
 in the corner of the vehicle and drew down her veil. 
 
 " I do not want one of those hateful Yankees to see my 
 face," she added, setting herself as far back as she could 
 get. 
 
 By this time the old gentleman had disappeared into the 
 house. 
 
TOM BURTON. 59 
 
 Possibly it was about ten minutes afterward that a com- 
 pany of soldiers came marching by, beating a drum, the 
 bright bayonets of their muskets flashing in the sunlight. 
 The fiery mare, unjaded by the long drive, pricked up her ears, 
 turned suddenly around and darted off at a breakneck speed 
 down the road. All attempts to check her either by the lady 
 or those whom she passed on the road proved unavailing, as 
 the frightened beast flew like the wind in the direction from 
 whence she had come. 
 
 For a mile the road stretched in a direct line in a southerly 
 direction, then breaking off abruptly toward the east passed 
 through a thick wood. 
 
 When out of sight of the village, and rushing with the 
 buggy through the wood aforesaid with the celerity of a rein- 
 deer, the fair occupant, oblivious to all around her, she 
 having fallen into a swoon, a Federal officer returning from 
 a country drive met the runaway, and, leaping from his saddle 
 by a masterly performance, brought the panting animal to a 
 standstill. 
 
 Observing at a glance the condition of the lady, and seeing 
 that much of the harness was disarranged and broken, the 
 timely rescuer slipped the filly from between the shafts, tied 
 her to a sapling, and while his own horse stood meekly by 
 regarding the scene with as much composure as his master, 
 the latter turned his attention to the lady ; and as she was 
 still insensible he lifted her from her seat to the ground. 
 
 The effort aroused her, and looking up into his face with a 
 surprised and frightened manner, inquired : 
 
 " Who are you ? Where am I ? " Then almost immediately 
 regarding his uniform with a glance of scorn that would have 
 withered any one but a soldier, she exclaimed : " Let go of 
 me ! Please do not touch me. I hate you ! " 
 
 The officer smiled. 
 
 " You are not a gentleman, sir, to interfere with a lady in 
 this way," and her large blue eyes spoke volumes of indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, Miss, if it will do you the least particle of good to 
 know it, I am Colonel Tom Burton the Abolitionist. Your 
 horse was running away. In a little while you would have 
 been dashed out and killed. I took the liberty to stop your 
 horse without waiting to ask myself if you would thank me 
 or no. As you seem to have no further use for me, I shall 
 remount my horse and leave you to shift for yourself. But, 
 surely," he added in a milder manner, " you are unfit to be 
 left alone here in the road where there is no assistance of any 
 
60 TOM burton: 
 
 " I must thank you for your trouble, sir, I admit, "but — ^" 
 
 " You are all of two miles from the village, and I would 
 suggest that 3'ou allow me to place you upon my horse, who 
 is gentle and will carry you back safely, while I lead yours. 
 Your buggy will have to be fixed before it can be used again/' 
 interrupted the colonel. 
 
 The color rose in the face of the young lady as the officer 
 was speaking, and when he was silent she spoke, her words 
 coming out of her mouth like shot heated for the occasion. 
 
 " That would be a fine sight, wouldn't it. The idea of my 
 riding into Drummondtown on a Yankee officer's horse, I 
 should consider myself everlastingly disgraced, sir, especially 
 when that officer is Tom Burton the renegade." 
 
 "You are extremely complimentarj^. Miss, I must admit. 
 I suppose you will allow me to lead your filly back. I hardly 
 think she will object." 
 
 Without replj'ing the lady drew herself up haughtily, 
 carelessly adjusted her shawl and started off up the road. 
 
 She had not proceeded three paces before she tottered, 
 falling up against a tree that stood by the roadside. 
 
 '' You are hurt. Miss, more than you imagine. It is utter 
 folly for you to spurn all help in this manner. My proffers 
 are made on motives wholly unselfish, and with a desire to serve 
 you in your dire extremity. You can certainly not gain any- 
 thing by such unwarranted, and, if I must be severe, unlady- 
 like conduct." 
 
 The voice of the Colonel was strong now, and almost 
 commanding in tone. There was something in its deep 
 volume that caused her to look up into his face. She had 
 known him by sight when he was a mere youth, and had 
 heard all sorts of stories about him, none of them calculated 
 to inspire respect or confidence, and she expected to behold a 
 repulsive and ugly if not besotted countenance. 
 
 She was agreeably surprised. He was not only tall and 
 well-proportioned, but really handsome. His hair was 
 closely cut, showing the contour of a shapely head behind 
 the band of an ordinary military cap, beneath the visor of 
 which his dark eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence. A 
 long black beard covered the lower part of his face, but 
 between it and his silken mustache a set of pearly teeth 
 gleamed when he spoke, in pleasant contrast. He wore the 
 undress uniform '^f a colonel of infantry. As she regarded 
 him standing there, the impersonation of perfect manhood, 
 silua •^'-iost regretted having been so saucy. She stood lean- 
 ji^ against the tree. 
 
TOM BURTON. Qi 
 
 ^^You must pardon me, Colonel Burton, if I have been 
 impolite ; but we do hate you Yankees so much, and especially- 
 one of our own people who has become our enemy, that to 
 treat you otherwise would be to dissemble. I am sure, sir, 
 if you are a gentleman, you prefer honest rudeness to 
 insincere politeness." 
 
 "I am forced to admire your candor as well as your pluck ; 
 but I do not approve of your discretion. Xow it doesn't 
 matter at all to me how rude you are, or what you may say 
 about me or the cause I represent. I know as well as I know 
 that I live, that the time is coming when you people will get 
 out of all such foolishness, when the prejudices of the hour 
 shall have worn out ; when 3'ou come to know us better. 
 But it is a matter of necessity that you come to some de- 
 termination as to how you will meet your present difficulty. 
 This is a case in which sense is worth more than com- 
 pliments, be they doubtful or otherwise. What will you do ? " 
 She reflected a moment. 
 
 " Then, will you please ride to the village and acquaint 
 my father of the accident. His name is Colonel Moore. 
 You will doubtless meet him on his way to look for me as he 
 must have gotten through with his business by this time or 
 heard of my mishap. I left him very unceremoniously at the 
 gate of General Lockwood's head-quarters, where I was wait- 
 ing for him to come out. Eose was afraid of your blue- 
 coated soldiers and ran away." 
 
 "This then is your ultimatum, is it ?" 
 " It is, sir. I can allow you to do nothing else for me." 
 Without another word Colonel Burton raised his cap, 
 bowed politely, mounted his horse and was off. 
 
 When Colonel Tom Burton was out of sight, Kate jMoore, 
 (for she it was), left her position by the tree, hobbled off a 
 few steps £ind sat down on the ground to take an inventory 
 of the damage done to her ladyship, as well as to await, as 
 patiently as she could, the coming of her father. 
 
 Leaving her thus engaged, it is proper to relate that, since 
 the arrival of the Federal forces, the relation of master and 
 servant had become one of those vexed questions which not 
 only then, but has since been of all others connected with the 
 social revolution in the South, the most difficult to manage. 
 
 Colonel Moore had a great many slaves, as has been said 
 before, and they were departing from his quarters as rapidly 
 as the autumn leaves were falling to the ground. To stop 
 this exodus and save some of them he had ventured to apply 
 to the commanding general for assistance and protection. 
 
62 TOM BURTON. 
 
 His daughter, Miss Kate, had accompanied him that morning. 
 The result of the visit so far as she is concerned, the reader 
 already knows. The rest is to follow. 
 
 By a hasty examination she found her injury to be only a 
 slight sprain of one of her ankles — merely a temporary shock 
 — the effect of which was already disappearing. A little use 
 of it by walking around soon restored its use, and except some 
 slight pain, she no longer suffered any inconvenience on 
 account of it. 
 
 The time since Colonel Burton had left her was inconsider- 
 able in point of actual duration, but her patience was pretty 
 well exhausted when, creeping down the road from the direc- 
 tion of the village, there came an old negro woman, a descrip- 
 tion of whom may be summed up in the one word : hideous. 
 Her eyes were bleared and rheumy, the lower lids turned out- 
 ward and hung over on her shriveled cheeks. Her head was 
 as white as cotton, her figure low, attenuated, and bent at an 
 angle of 45 degrees. She walked with a stick or rather shuf- 
 fled along — a sort of creeping motion — peering this way and 
 that as if in quest of some one or something she was anxious 
 to find. 
 
 When Kate Moore first discovered her, she uttered a half 
 suppressed scream. Hearing this the old hag stopped short 
 in the road and ogled at the frightened girl, turning her red 
 eyeballs over and over in a fashion calculated to disgust the 
 most obdurate. 
 
 "Merciful Heavens, save me!" exclaimed Miss Moore. 
 "Don't stand there and gaze at me in that manner. Do 
 please pass on," and she put her hands over her eyes to shut 
 out the frightful object. 
 
 When she removed her hands the old negress was still there ; 
 only a few yards nearer than before. 
 
 " Will you please pass on, old woman, for my sake ? You 
 do distress me awfully. You frighten me almost to death." 
 
 " You didn't used to be afeard of niggers, did ye, Miss Cath- 
 arine," replied the old woman, in a slow husky voice. Then 
 she moved up a few feet nearer. Her garments were old and 
 tattered and not in condition, as to cleanliness, to add anything 
 to her appearance. She went on : " De Moores nor de Wal- 
 singhams nuther, nor any of their set, was ever afeard of nig- 
 gers till dey was sot free. When you' ole daddy sole my two 
 fine boys to de backwoods, and he put de money on your 
 back in a new silk and satin coat, you was not afeard of nig- 
 gers den, was you, Miss Catharine ? I s'pose you doesn't 
 know who I am^ does you ? " 
 
TOM BUnTOX. 63 
 
 " Oh, no. I never saw you before in my life. I do not 
 know what you are talking about. Will you not please go on ? 
 Oh ! I shall die if she stands there gazing at me in that way.'* 
 
 " Dat's de way you whites do. You wants to get clear of 
 us when we gets old and no 'count. But, Miss Catharine, we 
 niggers is all free now — free as de bird in de air. Your ole 
 daddy can't sell us any more to de backwoods, case dem ole 
 times is done gone now. Tor de year ob Jubelo am come, An 
 de niggars dey am marchin' home ! ' " 
 
 As she sung this couplet, the old woman swayed her little 
 bent form backward and forward, and rolled her eyes until 
 they sunk back into their deep sockets as if she were inspect- 
 ing the contents of her bushy head. Miss Moore wrung her 
 hands and still pleaded with her to pass on. " Oh dear me ! 
 I know I shall have convulsions if I have to submit to this, 
 Will papa never come ? " 
 
 "Well, I don't want to skeer ye. Ye are a poor harmless 
 critter, jest as harmless as old Susie de witch. Butye's gwine 
 to be married, dey say, to one of de Walsinghams. Dem is 
 high actin' folks, dem Walsinghams ; so is de Moores — real 
 nigger 'busin' and nigger 'spizen folks, jest like your set, 
 Miss Catharine. It suits berry well, dat does. But dey say 
 he is gwine to Dixie Ian', I spec's it'll be a long time afore 
 he comes back agin, for de year ob Jubelo am come, and de 
 niggars dey am marchin' home. Great folks am wuff nuffin' 
 now. Dere day is done gone by. De bottom log hab come 
 to be de rider. When old Susie gets her ten acres ground 
 and her mule den, 
 
 'De rain come wet me. 
 Sun come dry me. 
 Go way, while man, 
 Don't come nigh me, 
 For de year of Jubelo am come, 
 And de niggars dey be marchin' home.' " 
 
 The frightful grimaces of the old witch, as she sung in her 
 peculiar way the above snatches of cornfield songs, were be- 
 yond endurance, and Miss Moore turned, and was making her 
 way down into the depths of the forest to get rid of her tor- 
 menter, when she heard a noise as of some one approaching. 
 
 In a moment Colonel Burton came up, riding on horse- 
 back as he went away. 
 
 "Please, sir, protect me from the insults of that old wretch. 
 She has just stood there and tantalized me for the last tea 
 minutes." 
 
64 TOM BURTON, 
 
 Colonel Burton looked at the miserable little bundle of rags 
 and flesh that was neither human nor animal, and replied : " I 
 presume she is harmless. Go on about your business, old lady." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! he, he ! she calls me a wretch, now, case she 
 makes tent she don't know me. Ha, ha ! look at ole mars- 
 ter's youngest darter stoppin' here in de woods wid de 
 Yankee man, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " See, here, if you don't go on I will pick up a club and 
 make you. Do you hear ? " said the colonel in a tone firm 
 enough to frighten her off. 
 
 " Yes, I hears, yah, yah, yah ! ole marster's j^oungest darter, 
 yah, yah, yah ! " she shouted down the road as she hobbled 
 off. 
 
 " The impudent old hag says she belongs to us. Keally I 
 have no knowledge of her, we have so many of them. But, 
 Colonel," she started up, as if she had forgotten something of 
 great importance, " where is uiy father ? " 
 
 " I am very sorry to have to inform you, Miss Moore, that 
 your father is not allowed to come to you. 
 
 Kate began to turn pale. The colonel proceeded : 
 
 " In his interview with the general he very unwisely allowed 
 his temper to get the better of him, and speaking his mind 
 rather too freely, was sent to prison for disloyalty. I am ex- 
 tremely sorry for it on your account." 
 
 "Alas ! poor papa ! " she exclaimed, breaking down com- 
 pletely. 
 
 Colonel Burton turned aside. He had no consolation to 
 offer, at least there was nothing he could say, that would do 
 any good, so he was silent. 
 
 " What shall I do, what shall I do ? she sobbed. I cannot 
 go home without him. It will kill mother. What shall I do ? " 
 
 " Permit me to suggest, Miss Moore, that is a question jow 
 ought to settle at once, and according to your best judgment. 
 It is growing late and colder every hour, and if I mistake 
 not, you live at a considerable distance from here, This spot 
 offers very few conveniences for you to stop long, your 
 father will be imprisoned for several daj^s at least, and unless 
 he agrees to take the oath of allegiance, it may be months, he 
 may yet have to go to Fortress Monroe, or Fort McHenry ; so 
 if you will place j^ourself under my protection, I will pledge 
 m^^self upon honor as a gentleman, to take the best care of 
 you I can, and conduct you safely to your home." 
 
 " But can I not see my father before I go ? " she asked en- 
 treatingly. 
 
 "I am afraid you cannot. The general is quite incensed 
 
TOM BURTON. 65 
 
 at the conduct of your father, and any appeal to his mercy at 
 this time would prove unavailing, and only serve to add fuel 
 to his anger." Then, while Miss Kate stood irresolute looking 
 sorrowfully upon the ground, as if trying to elect in her mind 
 what to do, he continued : 
 
 " If you will permit me, I will lift you into my saddle. 
 You can ride my horse, and I will mount your filly, and see 
 you home. After, I shall have your buggy repaired and sent 
 back to you. In the meantime all that I can accomplish by 
 my influence toward the release of your father shall be done. 
 Are you ready to consent to my proposition, or do you intend 
 to remain here all night ? " 
 
 She seemed to be weighing the matter over and over, and 
 the varying shadows which flitted over her delicate blonde 
 features told of the strife within. At last she replied with a 
 sigh that seemed to say, I can do nothing better : 
 
 "My unfortunate situation, sir, compels me to accept. 
 But little did I once think I should be brought to this." 
 
 " Do not reproach yourself, Miss Kate, I can safely testify 
 it is not your fault, but your misfortune. War times, like 
 necessit}^, make strange companions. Let us be going." 
 
 "And you. Colonel Burton, may as well make up your 
 mind that but for necessity you would not have my company 
 to-day ; but as it is, I am forced to surrender at discretion, 
 and do now put myself under the protection of a Yankee 
 officer. Alas ! my poor father, if I could only see him. I do 
 hate so much to go home without him. I am at your service, 
 sir." 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE CITY BY THE SEA. 
 
 Of all the seaport towns in the United States, Korfolk is 
 the most provincial in its appearance. 
 
 Indeed, from the days of the Eevolution to the date of 
 our story, no city in this rapidly developing and changing 
 country underwent so little alteration. 
 
 Its limits, like those of a certain village we have mentioned, 
 were almost circumscribed — not naturally so, but because of 
 the non-progressive character of its leading citizens. For 
 centuries it preserved its general outlines, social customs, and 
 amount of business while other maritime cities of the 
 republic grew and expanded into marvelous porportions. 
 
66 TOM BVnTOX. 
 
 Since tlie late war,Northern capital, Northern enterprise and 
 northern industry have been infused into its conservative 
 community, and Yankee push and energy have done a vast 
 deal to alter the normal status and make the future of that 
 old city by the sea a possibility. 
 
 This change is most observable in its spacious wharves, its 
 lines of ocean and inland steamers, its improved architecture, 
 especially in its West-end (all cities have West-ends), and 
 lateh^ in the expansion of its limits. 
 
 Slowly but surelj' its old cobble-stones are being removed 
 and new Belgian pavements laid in their place. Hipped- 
 roofed dwellings, reared in the time of William and Mary, 
 have given place to the mansard, much to the disgust of the 
 antiquarian it is true, but in keeping with the onward 
 march of civilization and refinement. Now and then the 
 fire-fiend sweeps away whole blocks of these old edifices, 
 tottering with age and ready to fall to pieces from delapidation 
 and decay, and new iron buildings go up in their stead. It 
 was the custom, a long while ago, for capitalists to pile their 
 money up in banks instead of investing it in enterprises which 
 would tend to beautify their city and give employment to its 
 poor people ; but recent failures and wholesale plundering 
 of their patrons by these rotten institutions have had the 
 effect of releasing capital and directing it into its legitimate 
 and proper channels. 
 
 Quaint old city, you have a history special to j^ourself and 
 memories galore ! Here Tom Moore sojourned awhile and 
 wrote his " Lake of the Dismal Swamp." Here G. P. K. 
 James, the " solitary horseman " novelist, lived and wrote many 
 of his most pleasing stories. Here the scourge of fever has 
 been felt in its ravages, and here the tocsin of war has often 
 been sounded. The Elizabeth River with its many branches 
 flows up from Hampton R-oads, dividing iSTorfolk from Ports- 
 mouth, its sister town, and teaming with boat life such as is 
 seen in no other harbor in the world ; and remarkable for the 
 diversity of its craft — var3ang in rig and size from a pirogue 
 to a ship of the line. 
 
 A mixed and busy (from a Southern point of view) popula- 
 tion crowd the main streets, toil about the docks, and 
 congregate about the market-place, representing every 
 phase of social life from the homeless waif of a negro to the 
 scion of Virginia's bluest blood. 
 
 Pure Anglo-Saxon extraction is the boast of the aristocracy, 
 and it must be admitted, if such can be found in any spot in 
 America, one might hope to see it here. From these families 
 
TOM BURTON. 67 
 
 still spring young men of excellent culture and fine physique, 
 and young girls whose beaut}^ of form and feature is not 
 equaled in any other city of its size in the world. The soft, 
 balmy Gulf air coursing through the pine woods, bestows that 
 delightful complexion one sees there in the faces of its women, 
 which, in connection with good blood and excellent breeding, 
 makes Xorfolk women desirable ; not only on account of 
 their great beauty, but exalted qualities. Their unaffected 
 truthfulness, and easy and apt adaptability to domestic duties, 
 have grown into a proverb which saj's, " Happy is the man 
 who finds his wife in Norfolk." 
 
 Of this old borough, as it appeared in 1861, we now propose 
 to write, and so, leaving Kate Moore in the hands of her 
 captor, let us follow the fortunes of her affianced as he jour- 
 neys toward this little city by the sea. 
 
 December was at hand. Stern winter had closed in upon 
 an unusually pleasant fall, and an ever-to-be-remembered 
 epoch was drawing to its close. It was the harvest of a 
 thirty years sowing to the wind, and a devoted country was 
 preparing to reap the whirlwind. 
 
 Proudly throbbed the heart of the j^oung Confederacy. Her 
 recent trials of strength with an over-indulgent parent, re- 
 sulting in a victory for her cause, had not only fulfilled the 
 predictions of her great men in regard to her prowess and 
 the personal bravery of her sons, but had inspired her with 
 an overweening confidence which nothing less than four 
 weary years of bitter strife could daunt. 
 
 Catching the military spirit, the Southern patriots rushed 
 wildly to the border, infused with all the romance of battle 
 and all the bright prospects of a speedy recognition of their 
 government's independence by the world. The population 
 of the border towns was increased to ten times their normal 
 numbers. 
 
 Norfolk fairly blazed with enthusiasm, and was overrun 
 with soldiers. Not even the new capital on the James 
 could compare with her for gayety during that gala winter 
 season of '61 and '62. Troops from Mississippi, troops from 
 Louisiana, troops from Georgia, Alabama, and the Carolinas 
 thronged her streets or tented among her suburbs. 
 
 The navy yard at Gosport, only partially destroyed by the 
 Federals when they left it to their successors, had been re- 
 constructed and was the scene of great activity. Here the 
 "Merrimac" was receiving her armor of plate, destined, ere 
 long, to astonish the world by her wonderful exploits. 
 
 Gaudily attired officers and smiling women paraded the 
 
68 TOM BURTON. 
 
 streets and public walks by day, and reveled in the giddy 
 dance at night. 
 
 Loud people and fast, attracted by the glamour of military 
 display, flocked into the old city until every nook and corner 
 was overflowing with humanity. Every day was turned into 
 a pageant and every night into debauchery. 
 
 Beauty and the beast held high carnival. The sound of 
 the drum and fife, the strains of martial music, and the 
 novelty of everything gave the scene a picture of mediaeval 
 splendor, and an unrestrained gush of feeling that carried 
 people off their equilibrium. 
 
 Men and women of all classes took the liberty to distort 
 their conduct. 
 
 Even the military was allowed carte-blanche. It seemed 
 to be the policj^ of their leaders to indulge them. It was 
 necessary that the most alluring side of the tableaus be first 
 presented. The young soldier must not be frightened b}^ a 
 contemplation of the horrors of war. He must be tempered 
 to the service. Veterans are not born like poets, but made — 
 hardened as steel is hardened out of iron. 
 
 The raw recruit must be fitted for the slaughter, fed upon 
 the smiles of fair damsels and drenched with conviviality, 
 before he is marched off into the field to face the red bolts of 
 hell. 
 
 Eor all such tender plants, Norfolk was a fitting hothouse — 
 a nursery where luxury and vice vitiated the moral sense 
 and cultivated all the vicious tendencies of the human heart. 
 
 First of all came woman with her man-making and man- 
 destroying appliances. The purest and best of these cast 
 themself into the whirling vortex of excitement with an 
 abandon that, under other circumstances, would have been 
 considered by the most liberal of either sex, as indecent bold- 
 ness, while the demi-monde opened boldly their gorgeous 
 temples of lasciviousness to the young hero of Mars, and blase 
 courtesans led the dance in the more degraded dens of 
 infam}'. 
 
 And then, the display, the allurements of camp life, and 
 the blissful luxury of idleness ! 
 
 Under the gaslight, into the noisy throng, through the 
 glaring streets of this Babylon, teaming with men, women 
 and children, black and white, amid the rolling of drums and 
 piping of fifes, rode our three voyagers in the creaking old 
 ambulance, tired and dust}" from the effects of their long 
 drive, but already obnoxious to the spirit of wantonness that 
 filled the place, late in the afternoon of the same day of their 
 arrival at Linn Haven. 
 
TOM BUBTON. 69 
 
 The hotels being crowded to overflowing, our new-comers 
 were forced to seek lodgings in a private boarding-house. 
 This they found, without much trouble, at 229 Main street, 
 where a lady lived with whom Captain Evans was well ac- 
 quainted. Captain Walsingham found at this place some 
 acquaintances, refugee members of his own regiment, who 
 had preceded him to Dixie. By these and the other boarders 
 the young officer was received with open arms, he and his 
 two companions being provided for in the most comfortable 
 manner. The hostess, a Mrs. Kendall, was an Eastern Shore 
 lady herself, having married a Norfolk gentleman ; and al- 
 though she was not rich, by any means, she was a good house- 
 keeper, and her table reflected the glow of the flush times of 
 the period. Pipes, wine, dancing, poker-playing, a jolly madam 
 and a quiet sort of fifth-wheel-appendage of a husband, was 
 the general programme at 229 Main Street. 
 
 Tea was over, and half a score of gentlemen, mostly of the 
 army, bearing commissions from that of brigadier to third 
 lieutenant, were congregated in the little go-as-you-please 
 parlor, which reeked with the curling smoke of almost as 
 many pipes as men. There was something very social and 
 homelike to Claude in these surroundings, while Captain 
 Evans and Sammy really rejoiced in the pleasure of unre- 
 strained familiarity. 
 
 The arrival of our Eastern Shore friends was quite 
 apropos. 
 
 A certain Miss Buttercup, a society woman of almost world- 
 wide reputation, had invited the officers boarding with the 
 good ;Mrs. Kendall to a soiree at her house in Freemason 
 Street, the party being given exclusively in honor and for 
 the benefit, of her distinguished household, and this was the 
 evening it was to come off. 
 
 Now, Miss Buttercup was not the only lady who was enter- 
 taining soldiers in Norfolk, by any means. All the ladies 
 were actually vying with each other in offering every means 
 in their power to contribute to the happiness of the brave 
 defenders of the sacred soil. 
 
 But Miss Buttercup's parties were phenomenal. The char- 
 acter of the woman lent a sort of unusual charm to her hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 In the first place, she was beyond question beautiful ; and, 
 what was of equal consequence,'she was brilliant. A host of 
 admirers thronged her pathway. Jealous, namby-pamby old 
 maids at the West-end — all cities have West-ends — said she 
 was fast^ and^ indeed, the best society had cut her to some 
 
70 TOM BURTON, 
 
 extent for what they considered a loudness, too loud for the 
 moral ears of the South. 
 
 But this had all been cured by the great upheaval of the 
 war, and Miss Buttercup, whose name had been somewhat 
 beclouded in her own town, again burst forth in all the 
 splendor of her unparalleled loveliness, and all the glory of 
 her poetic genius; for in her case dame Xature had for once 
 broken her almost inexorable law, by bestowing upon this 
 Norfolk woman all the graces and attractions of her sex, both 
 in form and features, and, at the same time, granting her an 
 intellect superior to that of most people. Her prose writings 
 were profuse and clever. Her poetry readable. But it was 
 her personal beauty which attracted most. In style she was 
 a soft brunette. Her eyes were dark, hair brown, complexion 
 olive, lips pink, teeth pearly. Indeed, so lovely was this 
 woman, from a physical point of view, that sculptors sought 
 her boudoir, and painters courted her presence, eager to per- 
 petuate, in marble and on canvas, the outlines of her perfect 
 limbs, or oriental countenance. Such was the woman who 
 was to entertain Mrs. Kendall's shoulder-strap gentry in her 
 gorgeous salon this evening. 
 
 The invitation is to every one of you who wears an officer's 
 uniform," exclaimed the good lady coming into the beclouded 
 sitting-room. 
 
 " And all new-comers of the same stamp, are included," 
 she added, casting a knowing glance at Claude. 
 
 " Of course, Captain Walsingham is one of us, and will 
 favor us with his company. Why, sir, I long to present you 
 to the finest specimen of womanly humanity you ever saw. 
 The Prince of Wales last year was entirely gone on her, 
 danced his first set with her in Washington, the}'^ saj^, and, do 
 you know, sir, that she is one of the three leading belles of 
 this country. The President's niece, sir. Miss Lane, the 
 celebrated Madam Le Vert of Mobile, and lastly, but not 
 least. Miss Buttercup, are the three ladies referred to, sir. 
 By the by, did you know that Miss Buttercup's portrait was 
 on exhibition at the World's Fair in London, along with that 
 of the Duchess of Sutherland, and that the two were voted 
 the handsomest brace of women in the world ? I tell you 
 what, sir, she is a stunner, and few people are the recipients 
 of such an honor as we are to-night. You may rely upon 
 that, Captain Walsingham." 
 
 The talker was a brigadier past the middle age of life, lo- 
 quacious and genial. 
 
 ^'I must admit, General, I have heard something of this 
 
TOM BURTOX. Tt 
 
 paragon of yours in my own out-of-the-way county on the other 
 side of the bay, and while, from what I have heard, I am in- 
 clined to think she is rather bold, still I have great curiosity 
 to see her, and although I am entirely out of the market, as 
 the saying goes, I ought to be able to face even the battery 
 of her eyes, without getting so much as singed by the fire of 
 her good looks." 
 
 " Very good. Captain ; all I have to say is, if you come 
 away safe and sound you'll be the first one yet to do so who 
 has ever encountered jNIiss Buttercup's charms." 
 
 But here is my friend Captain Evans, who has as honor- 
 able a title as any of us. It is not proper for me to leave 
 him, seeing it is the last night he is to remain in the city 
 before his return," suggested the young officer. 
 
 " Which are wery kind and considerate of j'ou, Captain 
 Walshingham, to think of your old friend under sich restin- 
 guished circumstances. But pray, gentlemen, do not relow 
 me to interfere in the remotestest degree with your plans and 
 purposes. AVe uns, that is me and Sammy, can regale our- 
 selves here by the fire untwill you uns returns." 
 
 "AYhich you shall by no means do. Captain Evans. You 
 too shall accompany us. You and Captain Walsingham just 
 walk up into my room and see what I shall do," exclaimed 
 the jolly old brigadier. " This is not to be a masquerade, it 
 is true, but a little deception won't hurt," he continued, after 
 they had ascended to the third floor and were safely ensconced 
 in the general's bed-chamber. " Here is a suit of regimentals 
 left here by a room-mate of mine, Major Begard, who has run 
 off on a little trip to Richmond. AVhat say you. Captain 
 Evans, to donning this uniform and becoming one of our party ? 
 
 " A moist excellent idear, Gineral, moist excellent. I can 
 play that ar' roll ter perfection, gentlemen, provided the trow- 
 sers is not a mite too full in the front," said the old salt, hold- 
 ing up the garment mentioned in front of him, surveying 
 critically the enormous proportion of that part of their build 
 to which he had referred. 
 
 Claude was amused at the scheme. 
 
 " Suppose you try them on," suggested the general. 
 
 The objection which the old waterman had expressed at 
 first sight was confirmed ; for while he was a powerful indi- 
 vidual, in point of size, his rotundity was not equal to that 
 of the absent major^ and the old man's eyes dropped in dis- 
 appointment. But it was only a momentary discomfiture. 
 
 You jest step down-stairs, and tell the landlady ter send 
 me up a needle and thread, friend Walshingham, we'll take 
 
72 To^f BunTON. 
 
 a berrin'-bone reef in tbese 'ere unmentionables bebind, and 
 ef they don't fit this old hull, you may call me a land- 
 lubber." 
 
 Captain Evans proved himself to be as good at tailoring as 
 boating, and in the short space of ten minutes was ready to 
 put in his appearance in the parlor below, sustaining his new 
 promotion with all the dignity of a gentleman of his parts 
 and perfectly at home with his gaudily attired associates, who 
 were awaiting his debut. 
 
 His reception was a regular ovation, and the general highly 
 praised for the ingenuity which had prompted him to think 
 of the arrangement. Congratulations were in order, hand- 
 shakings, bravos, and even Mrs. Kendall was called in to 
 take a look at her new acquisition in the shape of another 
 gentleman of such high rank, and distingue appearance, at 
 the conclusion of all of which ceremony they bundled off in 
 the direction of Freemason Street, leaving Sammy to entertain 
 his genial hostess with on clit of her old home and stories 
 of hair-breadth escapes relating to blockade running and 
 so forth. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when the gay party from 229 Main 
 Street, reached their destination. 
 
 Miss Buttercup lived in grand style. Her salons were not 
 as elegantly furnished as those of the fast women of France, 
 in the da^'s of the revolution, but her manner of living was 
 much after the same fashion. A colored man-servant in full 
 dress met our friends at the door, conducting them to a 
 dressing-room, where they divested themselves of their 
 galoches, and overcoats, and from thence were ushered into 
 the parlor, Miss Buttercup receiving them as they entered. 
 General Wynder (our loquacious brigadier), presented his 
 friends one by one as they filed into the room. 
 
 Never was handsomer woman more attractively superb in 
 her get-up, than the fair hostess, while her full, voluptuous 
 form fairly swelled with womanly perfection. 
 
 She wore a white satin skirt, with flowing train bespangled 
 with thousands of small gold stars representing the nebulaer 
 of the heavens, while her skirt was trimmed to show the con- 
 stellations of the zodiac. 
 
 Her bodice was cut low in V shape, and decollete. Bracelets, 
 enameled and set in diamonds, encircled her round forearm, 
 and gems of the same quality sparkled in her dark brown 
 hair. White satin slippers peeped out from their hiding 
 place of tulle and lace, and the unmistakable evidence of a 
 luscious womanhood, seemed to struggle with its slight con- 
 
TOM BUB TON. 73 
 
 finement, as lier pouting bust rose and fell, white and smooth 
 as parian marble. 
 
 "This, Miss Buttercup, is IVIajor Evans of the Eastern 
 Shore, a distinguished officer whose gallantry in arras is only 
 equalled by his gallantry in society. I commend him to your 
 regal hospitality," said the general, presenting our old 
 friend. 
 
 The major bowed profoundly, and as Miss Buttercup ex- 
 tended her hand he grasped it in his vise-like grip, until the 
 pretty woman almost screamed in agony, causing her to 
 entirely forget the little speech she was about to make. 
 
 " I consider this a recashion to be werry proud ev. Miss 
 Buttercup," began the major, still holding the lady's hand, 
 and thoroughly charmed by her beautiful appearance. " We 
 uns seldom hev the honor of meetin' sich as you." 
 
 " Your kind compliments. Major, are more than appre- 
 ciated. It is indeed refreshing to see gentlemen of your age 
 from the quiet country, with habits so domestic and rural, 
 sacrificing everything for their country. We shall surely 
 succeed, sir, when not only our youth, but the bone and 
 sinew of the land have espoused our cause. I welcome 3'ou as 
 a friend of General Wynder, and henceforth a friend of 
 mine." 
 
 So much sweet condescension was fast telling upon our 
 new major, and he showed no disposition to relinquish his 
 position ; but Claude, who was just behind him and next to 
 be presented, fearing the old fellow might betray his disguise, 
 took the part of Mentor and forced him along. So, stum- 
 bling over the thick Brussels, like a man who has lost his 
 sea legs. Major Evans, with his regimental coat buttoned up 
 tight to the throat, but rather baggy about the waist, tried 
 to strut back to the rear parlor, with the dignity of one who 
 was proud of his office. 
 
 Then came Claude's turn. 
 
 " I now have the pleasure of presenting Captain Claude 
 Walsingham, another specimen of Eastern Shoremen, and to 
 prevent any future trouble which might arise on account of 
 3'ou two being enamored of each other, permit me to remark. 
 Miss Buttercup, that our friend's affections are already dis- 
 posed of; and his heart is not only unfortunately within the 
 Federal lines, but locked up in the bosom of some fair dam- 
 sel he has left behind, in his sea-girt home across the bay," 
 remarked the general facetiously. 
 
 " You are very timely, I might say, a little too previous, in 
 your warnings, General," replied Miss Buttercup, greeting 
 
74 TOM BURTON, 
 
 her new acquaintance with a smile from her rosy lips, which 
 went to Claude's heart, like a flash of electricity. " And I 
 sincerely thank you for your kind consideration for my wel- 
 fare. But as every thing is fair in love, and war, why not 
 leave us to work out our own salvation ? We are both of age. 
 Captain, and might, I think, be able to take care of ourselves. 
 I feel already that we shall be the best of friends. I receive 
 you, sir, with open arms." 
 
 '• And I," rej^lied Claude with a dash of gallantry quite 
 natural to him, " am truly grateful for the opportunity of 
 rushing headlong into the fond embrace, so temptingly 
 offered." 
 
 " There, now, I told you so," blurted out the General. 
 
 ^^Ha, ha! laughed Miss Buttercup. Don't you get jealous 
 G-eneral, we'll finish this business bj^-and-by. Captain," she 
 added with a sly glance at the young officer as he moved on 
 to give place to another one of tlie numerous company, while 
 Claude, ahead, wounded by the merciless onslaught of her 
 dark eyes, sallied into the back parlor to join his old friend, 
 who had preceded him into that cosy apartment, where an 
 open grate gave a homelike and comfortable aspect to the 
 surroundings and afforded Major Evans an opportunity to 
 taste " the weed," which opportunity he had duly improved 
 and was even now sprawled out on a delicate tete-a-tete 
 seat with his long leg and heavy boot thrown independently 
 over the end of it, and at least an ounce of " nigger heel," 
 stowed away in the cul de sac of his great square jaw. 
 
 " Ain't she a gallus un. Captain ? I'll allow her smiles are 
 enough to make a feller feel as ef he begredged the ground 
 she walks onto. Why, sir, a touch av the lips av that ar 
 gal, would wake the dead. Captain Walshingham !" 
 
 ''You are correct, my friend. And I must admit if things 
 were not as they are at home I should tackle on, as you sea- 
 men say." 
 
 " As we military gentlemen say," corrected Captain 
 Evans. 
 
 " Just so, pardon me. Indeed I should consider myself 
 but sorry merchandise to offer in exchange for such a lovely 
 creature." 
 
 " I would rewise you to keep your eye on that cutter, 
 Captain ; she are a right smart dangerous craft for sich coun- 
 trymen as we uns ; and as I am gittin' along in years and 
 seen as how you have lowerned your flag to t'other one 
 cross the bay, it wouldn't be altogether the proper thing to 
 swar allegiance to too many petticoat governments at once." 
 
TOMBUttfON. 75 
 
 **So, sol but what has a fellow to do ? It seems almost 
 impossible to resist." 
 
 " True ; but we uns must run the gauntlet as best we 
 can." 
 
 " Good advice, my old friend ; but who ever attempts to 
 pass the battery of her dark eyes will go down, I'm afraid. 
 Brace up, Major, she's approaching us." 
 
 She came in with the gait of majesty, leaning on the arm 
 of the venerable General Wynder, her long train sweeping 
 the carpet behind her. 
 
 The major had previously divested himself of his quid, not 
 on account of any oral suggestion of his friend, however, but 
 for reasons more selfish and promptings more sensual. The 
 quick eye and ready instinct of the old "sea dog" had been 
 allured and awakened by the sight as well as the odor of viands 
 both elegant and tempting. 
 
 A certain flavor as aromatic to his olfactory organ as a 
 zephyr fresh from the groves of Araby the blest, had directed 
 his attention to a table which stood in the far right-hand 
 corner of the room, where glasses, tumblers, and decanters 
 were arrayed in gorgeous splendor, in the midst of which 
 towered the stately outlines of a huge bowl within whose 
 expansive rim there rose the lofty peaks of floating islands 
 disporting themselves upon the amber surface of a delicious 
 eggnog. 
 
 Now, if anything in this wide world could coax a chew of 
 tobacco from its hiding-place in the old sailor's mouth it was 
 the fragrance of this favorite Virginia beverage. But Major 
 Evans was not the only negative that was attracted by this 
 positive influence. It was this same thing which had called 
 the fair hostess and her chivalric chaperon into the back 
 parlor, and brought them again in contact with the young 
 captain of cavalry. 
 
 As they approached, the latter attempted to speak first, but 
 was anticipated by the doughty general. 
 
 " Now, my dear Captain, I am going to commit this lady 
 to your safe-keeping for the remainder of the evening, and in 
 so doing I again must be permitted to call your attention to 
 the fact that you have both been sufficiently warned, and if 
 anything untoward should happen, do not look at me or have 
 the hardihood to say, * General Wj-nder did it.' " 
 
 "Indeed, my dear General, you shall be entirely exonerated. 
 If we go astray we shall certainly not hold our good guardian 
 accountable and plead the Infancy Act." 
 
 " We'll allow the law to take its course shall we not ? Miss ; " 
 got in Claude, 
 
76 TOM JUJlitOir. 
 
 " By all meanS; darling," she whispered the last word in 
 his ear. 
 
 " So, so ! There appears to be collusion already I see, sup- 
 pose I retire and give you two a chance to hang your- 
 selves ? " 
 
 " No, General, not so fast ; we shall need your gallant 
 services presently over there," she replied, pointing to the 
 table. " As for the Captain and myself, we shall find a a 
 opportunity by and by to test the vulnerability of each other's 
 armor. Let us pay attention now to the more important if 
 grosser duties of the occasion. Come on, Captain Walsingham." 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 The reader who imagines that Miss Buttercup is a bad 
 woman, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, and that her 
 true character is not revealed, either because the writer is 
 unwilling, or incompetent to paint such a character, is sadly 
 mistaken. 
 
 Certainly, any woman who could enthrall a prince, lead 
 the van of society at our national capital in the palmy days 
 of chivalry, and bring to her feet the leading spirits of the" 
 age, should receive some delicacy of treatment even at the 
 hands of the severest critic, and not be insinuated into the 
 lowest depths of infamy and shame without some excuse, or — 
 what was, at the time of which we write, a favorite expres- 
 sion — some "overt act." 
 
 In fact, a woman ought to be taken exactly for what she 
 is and what she is worth, and not on trust or suspicion, one 
 way or the other. 
 
 It will not do to argue her case from a circumstantial 
 aspect, when one must not even believe his own eyes, as to 
 the truth of this or that, what she does or what is said about 
 her. She eateth and wipeth her mouth, and sayeth : " I've 
 done no evil," and it is not for you or me to say she has. 
 
 About one thing there could be no question, and that was. 
 Miss Buttercup's loveliness. She was enravishing ; and when 
 she took Claude Walsingham's arm to escort him back to the 
 table, he realized at once how powerless he would be in the 
 hands of such a woman. How, like a poor fly, caught in the 
 
TOM BURTON. 77 
 
 meshes of a spider's web, he miglit struggle in vain to escape 
 the toils. 
 
 But, to him, how little like the fly-catchei's machinations 
 were the sweet influences of the delightful charmer. There 
 could be no danger in yielding to such an innocent enthrall- 
 ment. There was no design on her part. She was influenced 
 by the same feelings. He was young., handsome and engag- 
 ing. He was the favorite. She lavished all her meaning 
 smiles on him. He began to feel vain. Her advances met 
 his egotism ; her condescension flattered him. The road to 
 her favor lay wide open before him. Whatever she was — 
 and God knows she was sweet — all, all might be his. He was 
 far away from home, and from the one he had vowed to live 
 for ; not so far when measured by distance as b}' time and 
 circumstances. But years might elapse before he again set 
 foot on the Eastern Shore ; and all the heart of a young and 
 passionate man could wish for was within his grasp.. Led 
 by the apotheosis of their darling cause, the sons of Mars 
 surrounded the board of Bacchus, Major Eevel Evans the 
 foremost in the van. The glasses were filled. 
 
 " A toast ! A toast ! " was echoed from lip to lip. ''A toast 
 from INIajor Evans ! " 
 
 Claude was fearful that his old friend, already elated by 
 the fumes of the rich grog, would say something to disgust 
 their bountiful hostess, and, by signs and winks, tried to in- 
 timate as much, but his efforts were lost in the general merri- 
 ment. 
 
 So it was decided the major should lead off. In the hubbub 
 that worthy had drained his glass, but jMiss Buttercup, see- 
 ing his awkward dilemma, came to his rescue, saying as she 
 did so : 
 
 "I see. Major, what the trouble is. It's the case of the 
 two governors. Let me fill your glass again, and thus shall 
 you receive a new inspiration to aid you in your little 
 speech." 
 
 There was a laugh at the major's expense, and, when that 
 subsided, they again arose. 
 
 " Speech ! Speech ! IVIajor Evans ! '' 
 
 The old man spread himself into a sort of Colonel Seller's 
 position, raised his glass to the ceiling, cleared his throat, 
 and began : 
 
 " Here's to you. Miss Buttercup, the loveliest lady in Dixie, 
 whose horsepertality we now so richly re joy ; and to you, feller 
 soldiers ev the Southern Confederacy. ]May the stares and the 
 bares never cease ter wave, and hurrah for Bonegard and Jeff 
 Davis ! " 
 
7S T6M nvRTON: 
 
 ^' Bravo, bravo ! " 
 
 The glasses were emptied and refilled. 
 
 "A song! A song ! " 
 
 Captain Evans was again to the front, waving his bumper. 
 The Major kept time to the following words, which he sang 
 with a swagger : 
 
 " "Wrap me up in the rebel flag, 
 Bury me near Jeff Davis ; 
 Give my love to Bonegard 
 And all the Secesh ladies." 
 
 Another, and still another, toast by different gentlemen 
 followed, until the eggnog grew turbid in the bottom of the 
 bowl, and the glowing faces attested the warmth of Miss 
 Buttercup's hospitality. Then, cake was handed. " Lorena." 
 "A life on the ocean wave." "The bonny blue flag." 
 " Dixie," and " Thy bright smile haunts me still," were 
 rendered with an accompaniment, and the party began to 
 show signs of dismemberment. 
 
 " You will remain and play me a game of cribbage. Captain 
 Walsingham?" 
 
 The request was made in a sweet, persuasive tone. How 
 could he refuse ? 
 
 It was an easy matter to dodge the crowd, and, while his 
 belated companions were staggering down the street, Claude 
 was locked in with the voluptuous woman. 
 
 Claude's experience with women had been of rather a nega- 
 tive character. The conventionalities of society, such as exists 
 in the best circles in rural districts in Virginia — in fact in 
 cities as well, among the same class — forbade an}^ such famili- 
 arity on short acquaintance as he was now so fortunate as to 
 enjoy with the lovely Miss Buttercup. At first he was 
 stunned by even an imperfect realization of his good fortune, 
 and felt as if he was unequal to the task his good luck had 
 imposed upon him. He could neither play his cards nor 
 count his game. They sat at the side of card-table in the 
 back parlor, the gas in the front parlor turned off, and only 
 one jet burning in the chandelier overhead, the soft light 
 from the open grate falling on the carpet in subdued and 
 mellow rays. Claude seemed to be in the midst of heaven 
 without the ability to enjoy its privileges. The excitement 
 of his embarrassed situation had overcome the effects of the 
 eggnog. 
 
 " My dear Captain, are you unwell," inquired his com- 
 panion, with solicitude. 
 
TOM BURTON, 70 
 
 " By no means, my dear Miss Buttercup. Only the egg- 
 nog has slightly nauseated me.'' 
 
 '^ Will you take some brandy ? " 
 
 Claude assented. Again they sat down to the card-table. 
 He felt stronger. The now languid eyes of the siren, the 
 passion- wreathed mouth, the heaving bosom, as soft and white 
 as eider-down, but as real as flesh and blood could make it, 
 no longer dismayed but stimulated him. 
 
 The mountain of loveliness which rose before him expanded 
 with his enlarged faculties ; but the will to ascend even to 
 its summit grew also. 
 
 They played. Their hands touched. The shy and shapely 
 foot in white satin like a timid mouse after the feast, crej)t 
 out and half buried itself in the soft Persian rug. 
 
 "Fifteen two," " fifteen four," "a pair," "a flush," ^"^ a 
 straight," " a go." 
 
 " It's your deal." 
 
 " No, it's mine." 
 
 They laugh at each other's stupidity ; they talk foolish 
 talk about the game ; a card falls on the floor ; both stoop to 
 pick it up ; their faces meet. The luxuriant locks of Claude 
 brush the cheek of the lovely woman. Their faces burn, 
 Claude's heart beats against his bosom as if it would leap its 
 barriers. Once more he cannot count the game, but he 
 counts her pretty tapering fingers, shoves back the cribbage 
 board and cards, leans his elbow on the table awhile and 
 moves his chair forward until his feet are now behind and 
 beyond her seat, between it and the table. The folds of her 
 gorgeous dress are mingled with the gray of his uniform. 
 
 Gently, as if moved by a spirit hand, the table recedes 
 toward the middle of the floor. By some hocus-pocus ma- 
 neuver their chairs advance, they now are side by side^ his 
 arm, with its glittering gold lace, encircles her peerless waist 
 and her head falls confidingly upon his breast. 
 
 Pressing his lips to hers, he whispers. 
 
 " Darling ; " but she, with eyes like Artesian wells of in- 
 exhaustible love, speaks only in the tightened grasp of the 
 hand which her womanly instinct had impelled her to seize 
 for another purpose than to press it closer still to her throb- 
 bing bosom. 
 
 Shall I go on, reader ? shall I tell you how in one short 
 week Kate Moore was forgotten, pledges forfeited, vows 
 broken, manhood lost ? 
 
 Ah, no ! it is useless. You know it all. Alas for that game 
 of cribbage | 
 
80 TOM BURTON. 
 
 It was snowing when Claude left between the small hours 
 of that winter night to seek his boarding-house. The 
 keen air felt good to his hot and burning cheek. 
 
 It is said that people change their skies, but not their 
 hearts, when they cross the seas. 
 
 Claude Walsingham had done both. 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 A TREATY OFFEXSIYE AXD DEFENSIVE. 
 
 Before the reader can be permitted to follow Claude further 
 in his erratic course, it is proper for us to go back awhile to 
 the Eastern Shore and look after Colonel Tom Burton and 
 his protesting captive. 
 
 Kate Moore was a defiant rebel, but she was not an ill- 
 bred or unlovable woman. On the other hand, she was not 
 only intellectual, refined and gentle, but in every aspect a 
 person of rare beauty, fully matured and in complete com- 
 mand of herself, there could be no more pleasant a companion 
 where reciprocity of feeling made a free interchange of ideas 
 agreeable and pleasant. 
 
 No woman ha<l more respect for truth and honor than she. 
 
 If she had given her heart to Claude AValsingham it was 
 his without reserve, and his forever, so long as he deserved 
 it, but no longer. She was not one to love so well as to love 
 unwisely ; not that she was incapable of realizing the tender 
 sentiment in all its fullness, or that she lacked any constitu- 
 ent which a perfect woman should possess ; but her education 
 had been such that she had learned to control her impulses, 
 restrain her instincts and manage herself without compromis- 
 ing her sex or her dignity. In this M'ay she had accepted 
 Claude. Not in the extravagant outburst of a romantic 
 gush, but in the sober and restrained manner of a well-bred 
 woman. 
 
 In Virginia first families, matches are made as much, if 
 not more, for convenience tlian love ; and experience has 
 shown that such marriages are generally more conducive to 
 happiness than the other kind. If the reader M'ill stop right 
 here and think of all the unions that have come under his 
 notice, which have been brought about by clandestine 
 methods, he will be surprised at the very small number of 
 them that have been productive of real happiness. Kate 
 
TOM BURTON. 81 
 
 Moore was capable of marrying even without love, and 
 still making a true and affectionate wife. This may 
 appear to be a paradox, but is truth nevertheless. If it 
 were possible that the seal of her heart were still unbroken — 
 if her feeling for Claude were simply that of respect, if the 
 great depths of her soul had never yet been stirred up from 
 the bottom, she could still marry Claude and be a good wife, 
 and never know any other sentiment except a deepening of 
 that she already felt. If Claude had only entered the outer 
 courts of Love's sacred temple, there lived no other mortal 
 who could ever profane the holy of holies, by an unhallowed 
 intrusion while he was her acknowledged high priest. They 
 had both felt more at parting than is ordinarily the case when 
 friends separate ; although both were sustained by ulterior 
 sentiments — he b}' the allurements held out to him of military 
 glory, and she by the great sacrifice she was making for the 
 cause nearest her heart. How capable their attachment was 
 to withstand the tests of adversity or the temptations of life 
 is yet to be seen. 
 
 Now he was in Norfolk, staggering to his boarding-house, 
 his very gloves tainted with the odor of unfaithfulness, and 
 she riding homeward side by side with Tom Burton the 
 Abolitionist, and on the back of his horse on whose hip was 
 branded the hateful letters : U. S. 
 
 But Kate Moore was still Claude's and Dixie's, she had not 
 surrendered anything but to convenience and necessity. She 
 was sure of this. If she had parted with a single principle 
 it was only because she could not help it. 
 
 Even while Colonel Burton was adjusting her narrow foot 
 into the large stirrup of his Mexican saddle and adjusting 
 her dress, she was all the time biting her lip, and making 
 reservations, reserving rights she would never surrender. 
 
 ^' I very much dislike to make a Union cavalry officer out 
 of you, Miss Moore. There, I expect Ben will carry you 
 safely, if you are a rebel, my saddle's not made for an eques- 
 trienne, but must suffice for want of a better. Now, Miss 
 Bose, you have been chasing your shadow for a mile" or two, 
 and have no doubt dulled your wiry edge to some extent. I 
 will just lay my overcoat on your back and see how you like 
 the change from 3'our master's buggy, to the position of a 
 war-horse," so he rattled away as he busily prepared his charge 
 and himself, for the journey before them. 
 
 " You may depend. Colonel Burton, my aversion to being 
 improvised into such a person is so intense, that it is to me 
 the greatest humiliation of my whole life. Next to death it- 
 self I can conceive of nothing worse.'' 
 
82 TOM BURTON. 
 
 " Keally Miss, are you speaking in irony, or in dead earn- 
 est ? " 
 
 '' Most positively, sir, in dead earnest." 
 
 " Candidly, Miss Burton, do you love anybody or anything ? 
 To hear you go on, one would think you are perfectly indif- 
 ferent to every body and every thing." 
 
 " Yes, I love, first, my country, next, my friends ; my coun- 
 try and her institutions — my friends and liberty." 
 
 "And slavery into the bargain.'' 
 
 '' Yes, I do love slavery, and so dearly, tluit if the South is 
 conquered and slavery abolished I want to die." 
 
 " Then, I'm afraid, jNIiss, your stay with us is not for any 
 great length of time. Two or three years, at most, will settle 
 the matter once and for all. And suppose, for argument's 
 
 " And suppose, for argument's sake,^youdo overrun us with 
 your hordes of vandal soldiers ? AVhat then ? Do you 
 think for a moment we shall remain subdued ? Was ever a 
 people enslaved who, having right and justice on their side, 
 strike for freedom ? 
 
 " A caged bird elicits some sympathy-. AVhat monster would 
 enslave a human being who pants for liberty ? No, Colonel 
 Burton, we shall yet be free. AVe shall triumph in the end. 
 You will soon have to leave this shore, and then — " 
 
 " You seem to argue tolerably well from your stand-point, 
 Miss Moore, but blindness in part has shut out from your 
 mental understanding much that is valuable to a correct 
 elucidation of the subject under consideration. You know 
 the old maxim, ' whom the gods wish to destroy they first 
 make mad.' To us who reason from different premises, you 
 Southern people seem to look through a glass darkly. In the 
 first place, your notions of liberty are crude — circumscribed ; 
 and amount if anything to selfishness. You want liberty, 
 but you want it only for yourselves. In the next place, you 
 have no just cause to secede from a Union that is as consid- 
 erate of your rights as of any other part of the comj^onent 
 whole. Xobody has tried or wants to oppress you. If you 
 are assailed by anything, it is that spirit of progress and 
 sense of justice which is abroad in the civilized world and 
 which will brook no opposition. It is a hard thing to kick 
 against the pricks. How futile to fight against destiny, 
 against God Almighty ! Why hold on to effete and worn out 
 institutions ? We love the bodies of our friends, but put them 
 out of sight when they die. Why cling to a reeking wrong 
 whose stench offends even the civilization of the Old World. 
 You people appeal to God for the justness of your cause and 
 have faith that He will deliver you. So fijmly am I convinced 
 
rOM IWETON, 83 
 
 tliat you are wrong, that if you succeed and build up your 
 new government upon the principles of slavery, I will be- 
 lieve no more in right, will hope no more in God, but go back 
 and serve the devil as I used to." 
 
 " Well, well," Miss Moore replied, petutantly, " let's say no 
 more about it. You think one thing, I another. Time will 
 prove all things, and if your future (forgive me if I speak 
 plainly), is no more remunerative than your past, you will not 
 amount to much." 
 
 '' I accept 3'our sarcastic reproof. Miss Moore, in good part. 
 I have been anything but a good citizen, especially to myself ; 
 but all that is past now. My redemption came with your 
 downfall. What has made me, will crush you. It was not 
 possible for me to rise up to j^our height until you were de- 
 posed. Every dog has his day. Tom Burton the Abolition- 
 ist is on the upward. Miss Kate Moore the downward road. 
 Come, let us ride faster^ the evening is coming on and we 
 shall be late." 
 
 The officer rode up close to his companion, patted the neck 
 of her horse and gave the command, '•' Gallop, Ben ! " and in a 
 moment the noble steed was loping along at a ten-mile gait 
 under the light, graceful figure of his new rider, while the 
 fretful filly, not entirely recovered from her late scare, evinced 
 a metal equal to that of her young mistress, and was almost 
 as hard to control. 
 
 Their journey lay through a flat but rather picturesque 
 countrj', varied alternatively by forest and field. The latter 
 were cropless and dreary, but the former was peculiarly sweet 
 with the odor of dying leaves, many of which still retained 
 their rich tints of red, yellow and purple. Some strewed 
 along the bridle-path, others falling to the ground, and a few 
 yet shivering on the almost denuded boughs. 
 
 It was with difficulty that Kate could restrain her tears as 
 she rode along the old familiar highway. That very morn- 
 ing she had passed that same way with her father. He was 
 a prisoner now, and she felt almost heart-broken. The som- 
 bre sky, the fully satisfying atmosphere, the subdued manner 
 of the little sparrows, no longer chattering in the exuberance 
 of spring-time — even the sound of the heavily ironed hoofs 
 of her charger sent a painful echo to her soul. Beneath her 
 with his sinewy limbs, she thought, and his neck clad in 
 thunder, was the war-horse that had come bearing the ruth- 
 less invader, who was subjugating her fair land, and she was 
 his master's captive, in his power and at his disposal. He the 
 hated Unionist, the despised renegade, the white-livered 
 Abolitionist. 
 
84 TOM BURTON, 
 
 It had scarcely been ten days since Claude's departure, and 
 it seemed to her that sturdy events of years had taken place. 
 As she approached her loved home the thought of meeting her 
 mother, the task of disclosing to her the fate of her father, 
 and the sight of herself, accompanied by a Federal officer, 
 were sources enough for unpleasant reflections. 
 
 Her companion anticipated her thoughts, and did all in his 
 power to alleviate her condition. 
 
 " Cheer up, Miss Moore ; this matter will all blow over in a 
 little while, and you will get your father back all safe and 
 sound. In a month or two you will become reconciled to us, 
 and all will be serene." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied, bitterly ; " so it will, when we all 
 become loyal and take your horrid oath. But we will never 
 do that, sir ; no, never. Your words of comfort, if based on 
 such an hypothesis as that, were better unsaid ; and your 
 good wishes simply gratuitous and ineffective. This is our 
 gate, sir." 
 
 The day was gone. That is, the sun was set and twilight 
 deepening. With the toe of his boot Colonel Burton raised 
 the gate-latch, and they rode through into a long and spacious 
 lawn, in which were the remains of two avenues of Lombardy 
 poplars, one on either side of the road. ]\Iany of them were 
 in decay, and all were bare and unattractive. Through the 
 skeleton tops of these trees could be seen the dormers and 
 roof of the old mansion, and, as they approached nearer, the 
 glazed brick of which it was built bore testimony to the fact 
 that at least two centuries had passed since they were made 
 across the sea. An ample portico of more modern construc- 
 tion adorned the front of the building. At the stepping- 
 stone at the door, the two travelers alighted in the presence 
 of a decrepit old negro man, who came up and grasped the 
 rein of his mistress's horse, while he never ceased to regard 
 the stranger with a curiosity that was amusing. 
 
 As Miss Moore alighted, which she did without giving her 
 companion an opportunity of handing her down, a large Xew- 
 foundland dog ran to her, leaping upon, her, and licking her 
 hand. Without acknowledging his caress she accosted the 
 old negro : 
 
 " Where is Isaac, Daniel ? " 
 
 "Done gone, missus." 
 
 "Gone where?" 
 
 " To de Yankees, missus." 
 
 "And Jim?" 
 
 "He done gone too" 
 
TOM BURTON. 85 
 
 "And Caleb?" 
 " He likewise, missus." 
 " And Cato and Kier, and — " 
 
 "All dem done gone, missus. All de niggers done gone 
 'cept ole Dan'l, bof men, women and childuns." 
 
 '' Why didn't you go also, Dan ? " asked Colonel Burton, 
 in a sort of bantering manner. 
 
 "Case Dan'l too old. Dan' el tinks he better stay take 
 care ole missus and young missus." 
 
 " Well, take these horses and put them up and feed them. 
 Please walk into the house. Colonel Burton." She said this 
 in a cold, but polite way. 
 
 They entered a large hall, in which was a sideboard loaded 
 with divers kinds of glass and china-ware, both antique and 
 modern, and over it hung the broad antlers of a noble buck. 
 Sporting pictures adorned the walls, and a rifle was slung in 
 a rack, with powder-flask and shot-pouch. At the further end 
 stood a tall clock, reaching almost to the ceiling. It was 
 ticking monotonously, and kept not only the hour, but lunar 
 time, the day of the week and month. There was no super- 
 abundance of furniture in view, or ceremony in the manner 
 of Miss Moore as she ushered her guest into the large wain- 
 scoted parlor, with its lofty ceiling, its exquisitely carved 
 mantelpiece and artistic panels. A suit of modern furniture, 
 Brussels carpet, some divans of older style, a couple of easy 
 chairs and an ottoman, composed the paraphernalia of the 
 room, if we add several life-size busts of the family in oil, 
 which adorned the walls. 
 
 " Please be seated, sir. After I have made my mother ac- 
 quainted with the sad affair at the village, I will return." 
 So saying, she left the colonel alone, in the big parlor, with 
 his thoughts. 
 
 "Alas ! such is war," he said to himself, " I'm sorry for the 
 poor girl and her mother." Old Daniel came stumbling in 
 with his arms full of wood and kindling ; removed the bright 
 fender, and, on his knees, soon made a roaring fire, M'hose 
 cheerful blaze and comfortable w^armth diffused a comfort- 
 ableness, that was truly grateful. 
 
 "What vandals we Union people are," went on thinking 
 Colonel Burton, "If we were not absolutely certain that 
 underneath this classic civilization, there coils a venomous 
 serpent, whose sting is death to all progress, it were impos- 
 sible to find an excuse for destroying their institution, and 
 breaking up their long established usages. What a splendid 
 but misguided woman that Miss Kate is. The love of such 
 
86 TOM BURTON. 
 
 a creature, to a man who could appreciate her, would he a 
 greater blessing than mines of gold. What a fool was Claude 
 Walsingham to leave such a treasure for the empty bauble of 
 military fame, which is destined to burst in a shower of mis- 
 fortunes upon his head, and leave him poorer than Lazarus. 
 I wonder if she really loves him ? and if he shall find faith 
 in her, when he does return with a wooden leg, or an em2)ty 
 sleeve, or an open wound for her to nurse for life. But hark, 
 she is coming." 
 
 " How did your mother take the news, and is she comfort- 
 able ? " he asked of Miss Moore, for he had thought he heard 
 the sound of weeping in the house. 
 
 " Mother is a true Southerner, sir, she was alarmed, and 
 greatly shocked at first, but is quiet and resigned now. 
 She told me to tell you that she is surprised that you 
 should have sold yourself to the Northerners. She used to 
 know your mother, and thought a great deal of her. She has 
 not been strong for a long while, and I feared the shock 
 would make her sick, but she bears it better than I imagined. 
 What is it, sir, we cannot bear, for the sake of our dear 
 country ? " 
 
 " This has been an eventful day for you, Miss Moore, and 
 you must have a pretty strong nerve to stand up to it," said 
 Colonel Burton evasively. 
 
 '' Ay, even beyond my calculations, sir. Our colored people 
 are all gone from us. That was M'hat papa went up to see 
 your tyrannical general about. I wish now that he had staid 
 at home, as it all did no good. !N^ow, then, it only remains 
 for me to know what disposition you will make of us, before 
 our cup of misery will be full." 
 
 " I beg leave to assure you, Miss Moore, I have no dispo- 
 sition to be exacting ; indeed I have no authority to make any. 
 Instead of your being my captive, I am your prisoner to- 
 night, and a pensioner on your hospitality. Let me, 
 speaking candidly, also assure 3'ou that so far as in me 
 is, I shall endeavor to render you such protection as lies in 
 my power at all times. 1 fully estimate your unfortunate 
 situation, and no one could deplore more than I do, the cir- 
 cumstances which compel me to be a participant in the 
 affairs of this day. Feeling how you hate me, I do not blame 
 you, nor do I require you to dissemble in the least your true 
 sentiments. Nothing you shall do or saj^, shall have any bear- 
 ing upon my conduct toward you, which shall be only that of 
 a stranger, and a gentleman." 
 
 Such an expression of noble generosity touched the proud 
 girl, and she was silent and reflective. Finally she said : 
 
TOM BURTON. 87 
 
 " Well, well, I know of but one course for us to pursue, 
 Colonel, and that is to make a treaty offensive and defensive, 
 the terms of which we shall discuss to-morrow. After so long 
 a ride on your indifferent saddle, I am sure you will find 
 repose agreeable. We will first repair to the dining-room, 
 where I have prepared the tea, and after supper you may re- 
 tire, if 3^ou can afford to trust your precious Union body under 
 the roof of a rebel. 
 
 "Being a prisoner of yours, and subject to your orders, I 
 have no other wish but to obey you," and so saying he followed 
 her to the dining-room. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A CONDITION OF QUASI-FRIENDSHIP ESTABLISHED. 
 
 " What is it, Colonel Burton, that Shakespeare says makes 
 cowards of us all ? " remarked Kate Moore, as she and her 
 guest reentered the parlor after tea, and just prior to his de- 
 parture for his room that night, at Moorefield. Evidently 
 she was feeling better, for her tone was more cheerful, and 
 she evinced a disposition to chat a while before retiring. 
 
 " I think it is conscience. Miss." 
 
 " Yes. I had forgotten, and it ran in my head it was mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 " Why did you ask ; and what relation does it bear upon 
 the present state of affairs. Miss Moore ? " inquired the Col- 
 onel, whose weariness did not dissuade him from leading her 
 off into a protracted conversation. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, sir ; only I was thinking how cowardly I was 
 growing, and was asking myself the cause." 
 
 "Then it might have been your conscience, sure enough. 
 Miss, since your sins have been without number, this after- 
 noon," laughed the Colonel. " But you need not feel at all 
 repentant, for I have forgiven you long ago." 
 
 " Well, whether it is conscience or misfortune, it doesn't 
 matter. I am just going to make a convenience of you, Col- 
 onel Burton, and I want you to distinctly understand that if 
 I seem to make any overtures, or soften in my manner toward 
 you in the least, you are not to presume upon my friendship." 
 
 " That is to say, you intend to treat me as you do your 
 dog. Pet me a little, but keep me in remembrance that I am 
 a brute." 
 
SS , TOM BUBTON, 
 
 '' Something like that, ColoneL" 
 
 " You are a candid young lady, to he sure, and I have the 
 advantage of having to fight an open enemy at all events." 
 
 " But you told me not to dissemble/' 
 
 '' Go on." 
 
 " You understand, sir, that since your kind and magnan- 
 imous general has taken our father first, and then our servants, 
 we — mother and myself — are almost left in a destitute and un- 
 protected condition. We have got to put ourselves under your 
 protection or remain at the risk of being misused by your 
 soldiers, or murdered and robbed by the negroes, when it is 
 learned that we are living here alone. Such a proposition is 
 intolerable to us, but a stern necessity which cannot be ig- 
 nored. The only question is, do you accept the responsibility 
 or do you scorn the subterfuge ? " 
 
 "To a man. Miss Moore, my answer would be a gauntlet ; 
 to you it is this : I can easily forgive the insult of a proud 
 woman who strikes back at the same time she sues for pardon. 
 It's a woman's nature, you know, never to surrender. They 
 alwa3^s show fight to the last. For that reason I will obligate 
 myself to become your protector, until such time as you cease 
 to need my services. In the meantime, it would be very 
 gratifying to me to have you regard me as a human being, 
 flesh and blood, like unto your own father or brother. A 
 slight difference of opinion ought not to make such a wide 
 social gulf. It is a bad omen, for any cause, when its vo- 
 taries use prejudice instead of reason in attempting to sustain 
 it. Now, laying aside all otlier matters. Miss Moore, let me 
 feel that you and your mother are trusting to my honor for 
 protection, and I swear to you that a brother could not be 
 more careful of you than I will be." 
 
 "All right. Colonel, so far so good. But how long shall 
 my poor father have to languish in prison ? " 
 
 " Ah, that is a different question. Miss Moore." 
 
 " But, can you not use j-our influence in his behalf ? " 
 
 " As far as it will go. If Colonel Moore will only use a 
 little discretion, he will be at liberty in a few days. Of course 
 if he acts like a crazy man, and by disloyal conduct keeps the 
 general in a state of constant irritation, he may not see 
 Moorefield for a long time. If he is willing to come home 
 and be quiet, I can obtain his release for you in less than 
 three days ; meantime I will keep joii posted in regard to his 
 health and comfort, and see that he is properly cared for." 
 
 " For once I thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart." 
 
 That settled, she again resumed: 
 
TOM BUnTOX. ,C;() 
 
 '^ Let me put one more question to you. Should some 
 of our soldier boj's run over to see us some of these nights, 
 or the blockade runners come up here in the creek with letters 
 for us, would you be hard with them, Colonel ? " 
 
 " Not if I didn't catch them, Miss Moore. They must 
 keep out of my way." 
 
 " But if I should place you into their hands and they 
 should take you over to Richmond and hansr you as a rene- 
 gade?" 
 
 Colonel Burton laughed. 
 
 '• I am willing to trust you. Miss Moore as to the betrayal, 
 and the authorities at Richmond as to the hanging. So that 
 matter is fixed. My only danger, I must tell you, lies not 
 in that, but another direction. There are rebels at home, 
 some who did not cross over into Dixie, whose arrows, like 
 that of the Trojan hero, might strike me in a tender spot. 
 My armor may be Heph^stian in construction, but my 
 heai;t, like Achilles' heel, is by no means invulnerable." 
 
 But Miss Moore was, and the pleasant sally passed by 
 without even drawing her fire. He went on : 
 
 " I am sure I should gain even the respect of my enemies, 
 your best friends, by affording you protection. If Captain 
 Walsingham himself were here, I do not think he would 
 take opposite grounds." 
 
 " I should fear for you if he were. I think there is some 
 old grudge between you. Is there not ? " 
 
 " Really, Miss, we will not speak of that now." 
 
 " Your sister and he have always been good friends," she 
 could not resist saying. 
 
 "I think so. At any rate, I know nothing to the contrary," 
 was the curt reply. " Mary is almost as great a rebel as any 
 of you," he added. 
 
 " And it's the only way for her to receive and merit the 
 confidence and esteem of the best people of the country." 
 
 *■' Best people ! " sarcastically retorted Colonel Burton, for 
 the first time forgetting himself. 
 
 " When this little unpleasantness is over, I do hope we 
 shall cease to hear of ^best families ' in the sense it is used 
 on the Eastern Shore. Do you know old Colonel Polk, 
 Miss Moore ? " 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 "You call him one of the best families, do you not ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " You remember how rotund and pompous he looks ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
90 TOM BURTOX. 
 
 *' Now, mark me, and take notice, how thin and poverty- 
 stricken he will appear by and by, when his negroes are all 
 gone. Dress him up in plain fustian, and old Jimmy Tatum 
 will look like a millionaire by the side of him. I abhor 3'our 
 first faniilies made up of such stuff. I think we had better 
 retire.*' Miss Moore's face was very red, and Colonel Burton 
 was not in the best humor. 
 
 " One word more before you go to bed, Colonel, and that 
 is in regard to our treat3^ Instead of talking of it to-morrow, 
 as we have sat up so long, we might as well finish to-night.'' 
 
 "Well, proceed." 
 
 " It is this. You are to see that our throats are not cut, 
 our property not destroyed, our father released, and if any 
 our friends are caught running the blockade — '' 
 
 " I shall certainly not permit them to return. But have we 
 not gone over that ground alread}^ ? " 
 
 " Then I think we understand each other. All malice 
 apart; but the old grudge stands good." 
 
 " Yes, you want to bind me to a woman's bargain. Miss 
 Moore, I see. Well, I suppose you must have your own 
 way. To your good sense, I leave the future disposition of 
 your affairs, for they are in great part at your disposal." 
 
 "I shall do the best I know how, Colonel, but everything 
 is so new and strange to me, I scarcely know how to act." 
 
 " It is eminently your dut}^. Miss, to conform yourself to 
 the new condition of affairs as much as possible. The world 
 is constantly moving into new spheres, and its inhabitants 
 into new realms of thought. You must look ahead and keep 
 up. Never mind the negroes ; let them take care of themselves. 
 You need not become a martj-r. You may shun the hem- 
 lock, the gibbet, and the cross, but j^ou may at least be poli- 
 tic and save yourself much worry of mind, and perhaps a 
 great deal of physical and mental suffering. When the 
 triumph passes by, you need not join the procession, but you 
 certainly can keep from throwing yourself beneath the 
 wheels of the conqueror's car. AVe who tread the stage of 
 action to day, are short-sighted if we can see no further ahead 
 than the few years of the immediate present. Out of the 
 throes of this national strife shall come forth a new era of 
 prosperit}^ — a quickening of the countrj^'s industries — the 
 extent of which, even if we could behold only a tithe of its 
 magnitude, would astonish us. Then shall all animosity be 
 swallowed up in amnesty and reconciliation, and you and I, 
 so long separated by caste, be good friends, equal in respect- 
 ability, if equal in intellect and virtue, and the world forget 
 
TOM BURTON. 91 
 
 that Tom Burton the Abolitionist was once despised for his 
 politics and religion." 
 
 " My goodness, Colonel, you talk like a preacher." 
 
 My father was a local preacher you know, and I suppose I 
 am at last taking after him." 
 
 " I think you would do well to put oif that uniform and 
 take holy orders. It would become you much better. Once 
 more I would suggest that we retire, and if you will take a 
 glass of wine with me, we will, for the present, drink friends." 
 
 " I am forsworn. Never again will a drop of liquor, of 
 any kind, enter my mouth, if I can help it. Twice in my 
 life, to drown sorrow, I have indulged ; and to-day have less 
 to find fault of on the score of bad treatment, from my fellow- 
 men, than injury received from strong drink. When the 
 devil tempts men to oppress their fellows, he stands by with a 
 glass of rum, to stupefy them ; not that he may relieve them 
 of the pain, but destroy their sensibility, and help them on to 
 their ruin. I am not afraid of rebel bullets, but from rebel 
 wine, please excuse me." 
 
 " Then your fear treachery ? " 
 
 ^' By no means. On the contrary, if I should meet my fate 
 in you, I could compliment myself on having a very sweet 
 executioner." 
 
 " Silence, Coloneh You must not jest. E-emember you 
 are not to take any liberties. There must be no familiarity." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss, it is only a soldier's gallantry. If I have 
 offended, I beg your pardon. You may listen to me some of 
 these fine days." 
 
 " I will tell you when that may be, Colonel." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " When the South is conquered and all her brave soldiers 
 slain ; not till then." 
 
 " All right. Miss Moore, I shall bide my time, and upon 
 that issue predicate my claim to your condescension. 
 
 ^' We shall both be very old." 
 
 " In experience I doubt not, but in years nothing to speak 
 of. Meanwhile, as we have had rather a stormy day and have 
 put into it much more than we expected, let us to bed and 
 dream of better days to come. Good-night." 
 
 Colonel Burton retired. He found a comfortable bed well 
 furnished with coverlets, a voluptuous feather-bed, and sheets 
 of unblemished whiteness. Sleep waited not to be wooed, 
 nor was the Union officer averse to her caresses. Stretching 
 his tired limbs at full length upon his grateful couch, he 
 passed into the oblivion of calm repose, 
 
92 TOM BURTON, 
 
 Meanwhile, Kate Moore, almost ready to succumb to tlie 
 mental and physical strain occasioned by the day's excite- 
 ment, was preparing to follow his example, when alow knock- 
 ing at the back door of the house arrested her attention. 
 She ran down stairs as quickly as possible, having recognized 
 the signal, and putting her lips to the key-hole, inquired: 
 
 " AVho is it ? " 
 
 " Captain Evans, ma'am, with a billy doo for Miss Kate." 
 
 " Come in, but don't make a noise. There is a Union officer 
 upstairs. When did you arrive, and is the Captain safe and 
 sound in Dixie ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; he are as happy as a crab at high water, 
 havin' lots of enjoyment with the I^orfolk ladies, and jest a 
 havin' the most excellent time you can remagine. Here is a 
 letter he sent j^ou." 
 
 " A thousand thanks, Captain. I am so glad to hear of 
 your safe arrival. I suppose Claude is happy ? " 
 
 " As happy as a man can well be, what has left his gal be- 
 hind. Howsomever there is no lack ev' 'em over thar." 
 
 " What are the prospects. Captain, of peace ? " 
 
 "Werry great, ma'am, werry great. France and England 
 is about to recognize our independence, and as soon as that is 
 recomplished it will all be over." 
 
 "I'm afraid you left in a hurry. The Captain's letter is 
 very short and quite unsatisfactory^," said Miss Moore, as she 
 finished reading the note Captain Evans had handed her. 
 Her unsatisfied look put the old salt on his guard. 
 
 " Oh, he war werry busy, ma'am. You must not jedge him 
 too sewerely. And I did repart rather unceremoniously like. 
 Don't doubt him. Miss, he are as true as the North Stair." 
 
 " When do you return. Captain ? " 
 
 " To-morry night, ma'am. I wish it war to-night, ma'am." 
 
 "AVhy to-night?" 
 
 " Because I wouldn't mind takin' that Y'ankee you spoke 
 across the bay with we uns. He would make dollars in my 
 pocket, ma'am, and a right smart feather in my cap, eh ? " 
 
 "But I couldn't allow you to take him. Captain. Papa is 
 in jail and the negroes are all gone ; so we need this man's 
 services just now." 
 
 " So, I see. I know as how we uns hev to do things in 
 those war times we uns don't relish much, but so it is. I 
 don't suppose it will mix matters too much fer you to allow 
 me stay with you uns ; that is, ef you uns can recommodate 
 me ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, Y^ou may go up to the back-room, you know the 
 
TOM BURTOX. 93 
 
 way. Don't make any extra noise. If he should discover 
 you, I will try and pass you off for a neighbor. You see ? " 
 
 "Never mind me, ma'am. I'm used to sich business. 
 
 " But where is Sammy ? " 
 
 "He are gone to his mother's. I'm under werry many ob- 
 ligations to you, ma'am, fer your horsepetality. I shall be 
 leavin' werry early in the mornin, and expect to cross over 
 to-morry night. Should you hev anything to send the Cap- 
 tain, you know Mdiere the cunner lies. I suppose his blue- 
 coated honor will hev reparted afore that time ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, he will go in the forenoon. You may expect me 
 at the landing. Kow, you had better retire. My horse, ran 
 away to-day, poor papa got locked up, and things have gone 
 wrong generally. I am almost dead with weariness and 
 excitement. Good-night." 
 
 Kate read her short note over and over again. It was so 
 unlike Claude — so cold and formal that she, weak and run down 
 as she was, could not resist a flood of hysterical tears. She 
 threw the one small sheet of note-paper into the fast dying 
 embers on the hearth, kissed her mother who was sleeping 
 soundly and went to bed, never so unhappy in her life 
 and never so hopeless. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 THE FATE OF MOOREFIELD. 
 
 The residence of Colonel Moore, the scene of the event re- 
 lated in the last chapter and part of the preceding one, was 
 situated on the west side of the peninsula at the head of one 
 of the many creeks which flow into the land from the Chesa- 
 peake. It was half a mile removed from the country road, 
 an expansive lawn in front, with the negro quarters in the 
 immediate rear ; the barns and out-buildings in rear of 
 those, and then the creek between which and the buildings 
 last mentioned was a thick line or grove of pines separated 
 from the barn-3'ard by a fence. A road ran from the rear of 
 the house, down through the barn-yard to a gate which 
 opened into the thicket. From this gate a dozen paces brought 
 one to the creek where there was a deep hole and a landing- 
 place for fishermen. 
 
 The next morning was crisp, clear, and bracing, a typical 
 autumn day, not actually freezing, but what might be termed 
 rimy. 
 
94 TOM BURTON. 
 
 The air, the steel-blue sky, the fields and the woods all com- 
 bined to make up a landscape intensely Virginian. The sea- 
 son was not unlike its predecessors, nor were the natural ob- 
 jects just referred to ; but the spirit of all things seemed to 
 be new. There seemed to be abroad, in this fair land, some 
 saddening influence which seemed to presage trouble of some 
 sort, and nature, though clothed in her accustomed garb, did 
 not give back that reassuring confidence she was wont to 
 bestow upon her children in the days that were no more. A 
 dead silence painful to realize, reigned supreme. There 
 came no ring of the woodman's axe from the thicket, no 
 bounding echo from the dense forest across the creek. The 
 hunter's horn which on such mornings used to quiver on the 
 ambient atmosphere, woke not the brakes and fens, nor did 
 the silvery notes of the bugle or the deeper bay of the fox- 
 hound resound in the thick wood. Not even a negro's cheery 
 voice hymning his crude ideas in his cruder song could be 
 heard on the big plantation ; or a pickaninny's outcry about 
 the quarters. No lowing cow or bleating sheep was left to 
 give animation to the scene. 
 
 One lone old negro man hobbled across the yard at Moore- 
 field. He had risen early and fed the two horses. There was 
 nothing else to feed. The runaways had stampeded with 
 everything they could lay their hands to, and Moorefield w^as 
 left desolate. 
 
 Colonel Burton arose at eight o'clock, and while waiting 
 for breakfast, strolled down through the rear houses to 
 the thicket gate. The grove on the other side looked in- 
 viting, and he passed through, delighted with the odor of 
 the cedars which grew plentifully among the pines. Follow- 
 ing the path, he came to the landing, and stood gazing over 
 into the water. A curious-looking object caught his eye. He 
 changed his position and took a more careful scrutiny, dis- 
 covering, to his astonishment, a canoe sunk in the bottom of 
 the hole. 
 
 " Ah, ha," says he, '• blockaders ! I shall look after this 
 traffic a little, and see if I cannot overhaul some of these fel- 
 lows. It may pay in various ways. Besides, it will furnish 
 a good excuse for frequent visits to Moorefield." 
 
 Colonel Burton cast his eyes around through the wood. A 
 little way from where he stood was a mound-like heap of pine 
 straw, piled up as if for carting. He approached it, removing 
 a portion of the shatters. His curiosity was rewarded by the 
 finding of three barrels of whisky, a number of packages of 
 yevrious shapes and sizes^ and several mail bags. At that 
 
To^r BrRTOX. 95 
 
 moment he lieard the old negro whistling through his broken 
 teeth, near the gate. Thinking that perhaps the old fellow 
 might be cognizant of the doings of the blockaders, he called 
 him and interrogated him as to the merchandise and the 
 canoe. The look of surprise depicted on the negro's face con- 
 vinced the Colonel tliat Daniel was at the first of it. 
 
 *'I 'specs dat whisky and dem odder tings 'long to de 
 blockade men. Dey is berry brief in dese parts, and Itought 
 I hyeard a fuss down here in de woods las' night. Ef I had 
 a knowed all dis good whisky had a been lyin' down here J. 
 bet Dan'l 'd had some on it 'fore now." 
 
 " That's all right, Daniel. Now I've something to say to 
 3'ou. I have to go up to head-quarters this morning. You 
 watch this stuff until I come back and you shall have some of 
 the whisky — yes, a whole jug full." 
 
 " Golly, marster, you is berry kind. But 'sposen de block 
 aders come afore you do, and wants to take de stuff ? " 
 
 " I shall try and return before they do. In that case you 
 will take notice of all they do, and let me know when I get 
 back." 
 
 "Yes, marster, dat I will, case I wants some of dis good 
 liquor. I knows it's good, 'cause it wouldn't be kivered up 
 in this manner ef it warnt. You hurry off, Marster Colonel, 
 and git back as yearly as you kin, case dem blockade men'll 
 be here 'fore de hen go to roost, sartin." 
 
 '' That's all right, Daniel. Have you fed and groomed my 
 horse ? " 
 
 " Yes, Marster Colonel." 
 
 " Then go, put the bridle and saddle on him at once, and 
 see that you tell no one about this whisky." 
 
 " Yes, Marster Colonel. You may 'pend on Dan'l ebbery 
 time. Dat ar whiskey will come in so nice fur de holidays," 
 muttered the old darkey to himself, as he went to catch the 
 horse. 
 
 Eeturning to the mansion, Colonel Burton took his break- 
 fast with the little family, promising to return in the after- 
 noon and bring them news of Colonel Moore. He then took 
 the reins from old Daniel and prepared to mount his horse. 
 
 " Dat am a good boss, Marster Colonel. Please, sir, gib ole 
 Dan'l a chaw ob tobacker ? " 
 
 " I don't use it, Daniel, but if you will stay around here 
 and take care of your old mistress and Miss Kate, cut their 
 wood and make the fires, and keep an eye on that whisky 
 out there in the woods, I will fetch you a pound of the best 
 chewing tobacco you ever tasted. Do you hear? " 
 
96 TOM liunioy. 
 
 "Dat I does, Marster Colonel, and I jist tell you, white 
 folks may alius 'pend on me. Dan'l knows whar his hread 
 am buttered, and case de white folks alius take kere ob Dan'l, 
 he gwine to take kere ob dem. Yes, Marster Colonel, you 
 may surely 'pend on Dan'l. When you gwine to send ole 
 marster home, sir ? " 
 
 " In a few days, I hope. Good-bye.'^ 
 
 '' God bless yer, Marster Colonel, make a hurry an' come 
 back, sir." 
 
 As the day j^assed away the weather grew very much mild- 
 er. The afternoon came and went, but Colonel Burton did 
 not return, nothing occurred all day at Moorefield to disturb 
 the quiet which had come over it. 
 
 A full moon rose into a cloudless sky at evening, and every- 
 thing betokened a pleasant night. Uncle Daniel was missed 
 at the house all day. He had been ybyj industrious all morn- 
 ing, providing wood for the ladies and was very lively and 
 talkative ; but had suddenly disappeared about ten o'clock, 
 leaving the impression with them, that he too had run away. 
 
 Captain Evans had much to attend to and did not arrive at 
 the landing until dark. He found Sammy there, but in a 
 state of the utmost trepidation. 
 
 " Why in thunder, Sammy, haven't you been a gittin' that 
 cunner up. You stand thar a lookin' like onto a superannu- 
 ated heron on one leg, awaitin' fer the tide to rise. Come, stir 
 your stumps. I'm spectin' a lady passenger down here to- 
 night and nothin' done." 
 
 Captain Evans had talked so rapidly, he had not noticed the 
 condition of the boy who had been standing all the while 
 with his mouth open and his jaws working, trying to find ex- 
 pression to something he had to say of the most weighty im- 
 portance. 
 
 " 0, uncle, we 'uns are diskivered ! " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " We uns are diskivered ! " 
 
 " General Jackson and Pocahontas ! what do you mean ? '' 
 
 " The woods is full ev 'em, uncle." 
 
 « Full of what, you 'tarnal fool ? " 
 
 " Eull ev dogs and niggers, sir. Jest j^ou come this way." 
 
 They started in direction of the merchandise. The old 
 man thought he heard an unusual noise, and stopped to listen. 
 
 *'By the livin', Sammy, I think I do hear somethin'." But 
 Captain Evans was not a man to be blnlfed by trifles, and 
 picking up a stick of wood he went on, followed by the trem- 
 bling youth. 
 
TOM BUBTON. 07 
 
 When the J had come within a few rods of the place where 
 the contraband goods were piled, they were accosted by the 
 voice of a man, saying : 
 
 " Who comes dare ? " Captain Evans was too well versed 
 in negro jargon to be mistaken in the character of the 
 speaker, and his suspicions were confirmed when a little 
 stumped-tail dog ran out towards the new-comers and began 
 to bark. 
 
 "■ Why, Sammy, it's nobody but old Daniel, come on and 
 don't be afeered ev your shadow." 
 
 " Is dat you, Marster Captain Evans ? " 
 
 " Yes, and what in thunder are you doin' here, you black 
 imp ? " 
 
 *'I is a watchin' de whisky, sir, I tought de Yankees 
 mought come and tote it away, sir." 
 
 ^' You're a lyin' hypercritical scoundrel. You are stealing 
 it! ^' roared the irate blockader kicking over the old negro who 
 had in truth been sampling one of the barrels. 
 
 " Get you gone, yer impercunerous old thief. Ef I ever 
 catch you stealing ev my goods agin I'll hang yer up to a 
 sapplin. Come, Sammy, ketch hold here, and roll these bar'ls 
 down to the landin whilst I raise the cunner. It's time we 
 uns was a gittin' away from here.'^ 
 
 Daniel was on his knees in the attitude of supplication. 
 
 '' 'Fore my Heavenly Marster — " 
 
 " Git up from thar, you sancterfied villain, and help the boy 
 load up these things. Lend a hand here, I say." The ap- 
 l^lication of another kick sent the old negro over on his beam- 
 end, but without waiting for the stimulus of a third, he seized 
 a barrel and he and the boy hurried the goods to the landing, 
 while the captain went into the water and pulled out the 
 boat. 
 
 " Hurry up, Sammy. See that the gimlet hole is stopped up 
 whar that old thief ware a drawin out tlie whisky. Put all 
 the boxes in and run up arter the mail at the house." 
 
 By this time a lady, deeply veiled, had reached the landing, 
 coming down from another direction. Captain Evans saluted 
 her, going on with his work. 
 
 Sammy had not gone far before he met Miss Kate Moore 
 coming down to the creek. 
 
 " You must excuse my haste, ladies," he said to the two 
 ladies who were standing near each other, as he pulled off his 
 rubber boots and turned to assist Sammy and the negro. 
 " We uns is late and in a dreadful hurry. Jest hand your 
 letters to that boy. He'll take care ev' em." 
 
98 TOM BunTon, 
 
 Miss Moore ventured to address the stranger. 
 
 " Are you not afraid to cross the bay in so small a craft ? '' 
 
 " Oh, no. I can trust myself to the care of the Captain. 
 He is cautious and trustworthy I am told." 
 
 " Pardon me, are you from far ? " 
 
 " Circumstances will not allow me to be communicative," 
 replied the other in a voice not at all familiar to Miss 
 Moore. 
 
 " I do hope you will have a pleasant night and a safe voy- 
 age," she added. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " All aboard, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir."^ 
 
 " Then jump in. And you, Miss, j^ou sit right down here 
 next to me. Right thar. Good-bye, Miss Kate. And you, 
 Dan'l-in-the-lions'-den, ef you go and blow about this and the 
 Yankees git wind ev my business, I will be the death ev you. 
 Shove her off, Sammy." 
 
 Daniel was gone. So was Captain Evans. Kate stood on 
 the shore and watched them sail away. The evening was 
 pleasant and she lingered there until the sail of the canoe 
 was hidden out of sight by a turn in the creek. She turned 
 to go when her dog came bounding down to the place looking 
 for her, and expressing great joy at having found her. She 
 patted him on the head, saying: 
 
 *' My only friend. Did you think your mistress had gone 
 across the bay, Rover ? Come, my pet, we will go back. 
 There is no one in the house with mother, and Colonel Bur- 
 ton may come to tell us something about papa. Come, 
 Bover." 
 
 The moon had risen over the tops of the houses, and was 
 shining through the trees. The dog went on ahead, but 
 suddenly turned and came back as if frightened. Kate did 
 not pay any special attention to his movements, thinking that 
 Daniel might be waiting for her in the thicket. He came up 
 to her and she patted him again and went on, the brute 
 walking by her side. 
 
 Presently the animal stopped and began to growl. 
 
 " What is it, Rover ? " she asked, beginning to feel un- 
 pleasantly at the dog's conduct. She quickened her foot- 
 steps, and had reached the middle of the wood, when a slen- 
 der sapling suddenly bent down across the narrow path in 
 front of her, and leaping from its boughs as supple as a cat, 
 old Susie the witch planted herself directly in her way. 
 The dog, frightened, uttered a howl, and ran through the 
 
TOM BURTON. 99 
 
 thicket as if he had seen an apparition. Kate was not super- 
 stitious. She knew it was common to ascribe occult powers 
 to old negro women, but had always held such an idea in ridi- 
 cule, and left such nonsense to the uneducated ; but there 
 was something in the frightful face of this old hag, in her 
 saucy effrontery and menacing attitudes that not only alarm- 
 ed her, but deprived her of all control of herself. The action 
 of her faithful dog was not calculated to reassure her, 
 and left there alone to confront the hideous old witch, was a 
 trial too sudden and unlooked for, for one in her weak and ner- 
 vous condition to overcome. With a grimace that was ghostly- 
 or rather devilish, in the moonlight, and her red eyelids blink- 
 ing, and white balls rolling in their sockets, the old woman 
 peered into Kate's face, as she did so, chanting : 
 
 *' For de year ob Jubelo am come, 
 An' de niggars dey are a marchin' home." 
 
 Kate's first thought was to fly, but there was for her no 
 way of escape but in the rear, and she did not care to go fur- 
 ther away from home. The path was narrow, and the small 
 pines grew close on either side. While she stood irresolute, 
 the old witch came nearer and took hold of her skirt, leering 
 at her in the most diabolical manner. Kate thought she 
 would die right there. She screamed with all her might. 
 Only the echo of her own voice ringing through the woods, 
 and up and down the creek shore, came back to her. The 
 old witch laughed like a maniac, let go her hold of Kate's 
 dress, and danced a jig in the path. 
 
 An owl flitted close by Kate's head, and, lighting near by, 
 set up a doleful screech. She could not stand the pressure 
 any longer. With a single bound she rushed upon the old 
 woman, knocking her down and trampling upon her as she 
 ran. Breathless she reached the gate, but a sight more appall- 
 ing still, burst upon her frantic vision. Brighter than the 
 full moon, brighter than the noon-day, there rose before 
 her the glare of an awful conflagration. The whole east was 
 illuminated. Tongues of fire leaped up toward the sky and 
 kissed out the stars. 
 
 The mansion was ablaze ! But one thought took possession 
 of her mind. All else was forgotten. It was her mother. 
 She heard not the exultant chuckle of the old witch behind 
 her. How, or when, she reached the scene of the fire, she 
 never knew. A number of soldiers were running here and 
 there, trying in vain to ^ave the house, She realized the aw- 
 
100 TOM BURTON. 
 
 ful truth, that her mother was yet in the burning building. 
 She essayed to throw herself into the roaring flames, but was 
 caught by a strong arm and borne away to the negroes' 
 quarters. 
 
 It was Colonel Burton who had rescued her; but she knew 
 it not. She knew nothing. A bed of overcoats was made 
 for her, and, placing her inanimate form upon it, the gallant 
 officer sat down to watch by her side, while the fire-fiend, 
 careering in his might, roared and raved around the falling 
 roof-tree of her dear old home, until it licked up the last ves- 
 tige of house, and mother, and all ! 
 
 PART III. 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OSTRACISM. 
 
 LoED MacaulAt has said that a man who will die at the 
 stake for his religion, will not hesitate to consign his dissent- 
 ing brother to the same fate. The idea is the historian's, the 
 words ours. 
 
 Coming from a Conservative, such a thought has no little 
 significance; and, taken in its most mollifying sense, can 
 have no other meaning but that radicalism, if not really ag- 
 gressive, is uncompromising and stubborn. The Burton 
 family was one of that unyielding sort, having come down 
 imchanged from the days of Cromwell, unconquered and un- 
 conquerable. 
 
 The father of Tom and Mary Burton had been a turbulent 
 man in his day and generation. Not aggressively so, but 
 like a rock in the midst of an angry ocean, which, while it is 
 motionless itself, throws back the wild billows that dash 
 against it, one upon another, making the sea white with the 
 foam of a fierce but fruitless onslaught. 
 
 Austere in his demeanor, fixed in his principles, and stern 
 in his integrity, he had stood his ground through all opposi- 
 tion, and presented against the political persecutions of his 
 times, a front so bold that no one could be found with suffi- 
 cient temerity to attempt to dislodge him. A Methodist of 
 the Methodists, an Emancipationist, out and out, freeing his 
 
TOM BUBTOJSr. 101 
 
 negroes as fast as they arrived at the age of twenty-one, and 
 a Unionist to the core, old man Burton preached, lived and 
 died in a community that sneered at his religion, cursed him 
 for his abolitionism and hated him for his patriotism. 
 
 His two children inherited only to a limited degree the 
 stalwart qualities of their sire, and these had been somewhat 
 modified by the associations of their youth. 
 
 Tom was more like his father than Mary ; and under dif- 
 ferent treatment than he had received from his neighbors, 
 would probably have been a preacher. The girl, on the other 
 hand, had taken all her father's sunshine (surely he had some), 
 and all her mothers gentleness. Her whole nature was im- 
 bued with a religious fervor; but an enthusiasm which had 
 in it not one single spark of suj^erstition, or fanaticism. 
 Environed by pleasant, and agreeable surroundings, such a 
 disposition would have culminated in a character as serene 
 and placid as a lake in summer. But alas ! such an environment 
 was not to be hers. Instead'of sunshine, she knew nothing 
 but storm. Instead of joy, nothing but sorrow. A few days 
 of school-life, themselves burdensome because of ostracism 
 and neglect, and Mary's life from girlhood had been one con- 
 tinued scene of struggle and oppression. No wonder that 
 she relapsed into a condition of melancholy, in which a jDrac- 
 ticed eye might have discerned the lurkings of danger to 
 both soul and body. 
 
 ]!^o one can contemplate such a wreck of moral character — 
 a wreck, not in the sense of depravity, but a wreck in the 
 crippling, maiming, and curbing of all that might have been 
 useful, and ornamental, from a religious point of view, with- 
 out feelings of regret, any more than that of intense indigna- 
 tion against those by whose machinations such a wrong was 
 perpetrated. Her faith would have been practical, her reli- 
 gion an every-day religion. Whatever there might be in a 
 strictly Christian life which demoralized the co-ordinate factors 
 of the social structures or marred the symmetr}^ of a well ordered 
 system of social ethics, she would have discarded as unworthy 
 of a classification among the Christian virtues. She would 
 thus have been what every good Christian ought to be : 
 charitable, unsectarian, undogmatic, willing to accept from 
 all the creeds that which is human, and Christlike ; rejecting 
 all that is artificial, unnatural and unlike the teachings of 
 the Master. Her religion was of a sort that did not de- 
 humanize, unsex or craze. Such a faith makes humanity more 
 human, beauty more beautiful, mind and body lovely in 
 association, more brilliant in intercourse. As art denudes 
 
102 TOM BURTON, 
 
 and beautifies what a false and prurient modesty conceals, 
 the one subjugating the baser passions by an appeal to all 
 that is honorable and chaste — the other inviting lust by a 
 lack of confidence in its own virtue — so a religion like Mary's 
 might have been is one that carries the sweets of human ex- 
 perience in one hand, and the blessings of God in the other. 
 But as passing clouds cast shadows on the mountain sides, 
 changing bright colors of the variegated heath, so the unto- 
 ward surroundings of Mary Burton's life had colored all 
 her character ; darkening the secular, without illuminating 
 the pious side of it. 
 
 These are not moralizings. They are facts thrown out 
 that the reader may find an apology to offer — an excuse to 
 mitigate, and temper judgment in passing upon the conduct 
 of one who thus far has figured in these pages as one of its 
 brightest and fairest characters. 
 
 "You will see, Tom," she remarked to her brother, '^ when 
 the war is over the Union people will be hated just as much 
 by Southerners as they are now. It will take at least fifty 
 3"ears for this prejudice to wear out, if it does then. All my 
 old associates treat me with contempt. The girls of Miss 
 Blake's school, even Miss Blake herself, passes me by with 
 scarcely a sign of recognition. Of course, I do not mention 
 this complainingly, or as showing any lack of womanly cour- 
 age ; but, Tom, it is too hard to live and die shut out from all 
 society, Avith no standing whatever in one's owm county." 
 
 ^^I admit all that, Mary ; but let us cling to the right if 
 we die for it. Besides, w^e shall see a change. If we make 
 good use of this, the flood-tide of our prosperity, we shall not 
 always lie at the bottom. A steady, consistent course, com- 
 petency, and protection, wdll wdn for us, by and by, all "we 
 deserve. For us to act otherwise, would call our dear old 
 father from his grave, to repudiate and disown us. We shall 
 have money and true respectability. What more need we 
 care for ? " 
 
 " Alas, dear Tom, it is not within the reach of money to 
 make a woman happy. Our sex is made up of pride, ambi- 
 tion and vanity. Without the recognition of our neighbors 
 we cannot enter into societ3\ Without an entrance into 
 society, we have no chance to gratify any of those desires 
 which I have mentioned. Why, don't you know, that it 
 would do a woman no good, be she married or single, to have 
 the richest dress, or finest embroidered petticoat, if she could 
 not show it to some other woman, and talk about it ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Marj^, you are growing very worldly-minded. I 
 fear you are thinking of backsliding, my girl," 
 
TOM BURTON. 103 
 
 "Ko, dear Tom, I am only looking at the dark side of the 
 question this morning. By the by, to change the subject, 
 how is Miss Moore ? " 
 
 "She is getting on; bitter as ever, insulting as ever." 
 
 "Yes, we heard you had quite an excursion with her 
 yesterday." 
 
 " I only left her this morning. Shall see her again this 
 evening." 
 
 " It would appear from your frequent visits that there was 
 some attraction at Moorefield for you." 
 
 " There is ; but whether it is Miss Kate or no, I leave 
 that for you to find out." 
 
 " She was as correct and faultless a girl at school as I 
 ever saw ; only a little reserved in her manners, which I do 
 not think resulted from any silly pride, but the manner of 
 her bringing up. She is Claude Walsingham's affianced, you 
 know ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I suppose she is handsome as ever ? " 
 
 " She is not homely. However, if the old saj'ing is true, 
 that 'Beauty is as beauty does,^ I don't think I've seen her 
 at her best." 
 
 " You stayed at her father's house last night ? " 
 
 "' Yes. I suppose that is all over the county by this time. 
 One has only to think of anything nowadays to publish it." 
 
 " Well, Tom, treat her well. She is a good girl, and I am 
 sorry we should be estranged." 
 
 It was this estrangement business that was killing Mar}'. 
 It was ever boring at her sensitive heart, sapping her life 
 springs. This is why she was sad — a sadness which did not 
 depart from her when Colonel Burton left her to proceed on 
 his way to head-quarters that morning, after leaving Moore- 
 field. 
 
 He had found his sister ill at ease, and suffering from men- 
 tal depression ; and although he succeeded in arousing in her 
 sufficient interest to converse, still, to talk had seemed to be 
 an effort. Mrs. Mason said that she knew her neice was 
 ill — that her brother ought to take her away from the Shore, 
 to New York or Baltimore. She needed mental recreation. 
 The Colonel, before leaving, promised his aunt to consider 
 the matter, though he was not very deeply impressed with 
 the idea. 
 
 If he had known how the little frail girl was suffering, he 
 would not have left so carelessly that morning, nor would his 
 head have been quite so full of blockaders and ^Moorefield. 
 
104 TOM BURTON. 
 
 Captain Evans and all his contraband goods might have 
 gone to Dixie or the bottom of the bay, for all he would have 
 cared just then. 
 
 Whether he was blinder than he might have been, or 
 Mary too guarded for him to read her intentions, certain it 
 is, that for many a long day he did not forgive himself for 
 the preoccupation of mind which caused him to neglect his 
 sister, who, he could see, now it was too late, was dying 
 even then for that sympathy and love her nature so neces- 
 sarily demanded. 
 
 When Mrs. ]\Iason went to the j^oung girl's chamber the 
 next day, to call her to breakfast, after an unusual indulgence 
 in her morning nap, she found her bed untouched, her room 
 in perfect order, but its former occupant gone ! 
 
 A letter was Ij'ing on a bureau in the room, addressed to 
 Colonel Burton which told a tale too painful for utterance. It 
 ran thus : — 
 
 " Colonel Thomas Burtox. 
 " My dear Brother : 
 
 " When you left Whitemarsh to-day, I felt that a sense of 
 duty, would finally compel me to disclose to 3'ou my intentions. 
 I managed, however, to master my feelings, and this note will 
 convey to you what I tried in vain to find courage to person- 
 ally impart. How you will feel tow^ard me when you come 
 to miss me I cannot divine. 
 
 " That it will cause you to forever lose faith in everything, I 
 very much fear. I pray God it may, at least, not drive you in- 
 to infidelitj^, or impair your confidence in the consolations of 
 religion, or the ultimate good results of a Christian education. 
 You must learn, my dear Tom, to look upon me as an excej)- 
 tion to all the rules which applj^ to ordinary girls, and learn 
 to judge of me as one entitled to charity's largest indulgence. 
 
 "The tension to which I have been mentally subjected has, 
 I fear, almost dethroned discretion if not judgment : many will 
 now say intellect also. 
 
 " I know you will have jDatience to listen to me, even if you 
 cannot find it in jouv heart to condone my offense. 
 
 " Cut off from all society, as you know I have been, my mind 
 has run much of late upon religious subjects and fostered only 
 too well, the desire, perhaps always latent in me, to seek rest 
 from the woes which have so long oppressed me. 
 
 " There is a limit to human endurance, to patience and even 
 to hope. A time when life holds out no longer the torch that 
 stimulates us to perseverance, or, if the torch still burns, hu- 
 
TOM BURTON, 105 
 
 man strength fails us, and we sink, like poor Leander, unable 
 to buffet the tide. At such a time we fail to find solace even 
 in prayer, and all we care for or desire is to % away and be 
 at peace. Such a condition, when it takes entire possession 
 of us, stimulates us to deeds of desperation and strengthens us 
 to face death and become resigned to it. 
 
 " Kesistlessly, brother, that hour has come to your poor 
 suffering sister, and I bid you and all that was once so near 
 and dear to me, a long farewell. 
 
 " And why, my dear Tom, should we wish to live in this un- 
 friendly world ? With an imbittered past, a present full of 
 turmoil and a future without promise, what" compensation 
 does life hold out for its cares, its pains and its toils ? 
 
 '' When this cruel war is over, be its end in favor of the 
 Federal or Confederate cause, it will make no difference to 
 us. Neither armed soldiers to protect, nor gold to buy earth's 
 treasures can make people love us. The stigma of Abolition- 
 ism will burn into our souls forever. 
 
 " Should the South win, as it appears to me now, it will, 
 a fate worse even than death awaits us. Better for us to per- 
 ish now, than live and bear the taunts and insults of a people 
 who will always hate us whether they or we be the conquerors. 
 "But why prolong this agony ? It may seem very hard 
 and unnatural to you for me to write so apparently without 
 feeling, upon a matter so painfully serious, but it is best for 
 me to command my emotions, and I am trying so to do ; still 
 harder than all the rest, is it for me to part with you in this 
 manner. 
 
 '' 0, my brother, what sad fatality seems to follow us in 
 that, just as Heaven has given you back to me reclaimed and 
 clotlied in all your noble manhood, we must part again. 
 With no one but me to call you brother, needing the tender 
 ministrations and support cff some warm heart, it seems too 
 cruel to leave you. 
 
 ^' Will you not forgive me ? And though we meet no more 
 on earth may we meet in a better and brighter world on 
 high, where the tumult of strife shall cease forever and ostra- 
 cism be unknown. 
 
 "Once more I bid you, and all the family at W^hitemarsh, a 
 fond farewell. 
 
 "Mary." 
 
 A slipper, such as she wore every day, her bonnet and shawl 
 picked up on the bay shore as if washed up on the beach, fur- 
 nished all the clue her stunned and bereft relatives could ob- 
 
106 TOM BURTON, 
 
 tain, as to what manner the poor girl had escaped from her 
 sorrows and found her ease at last, in the arms of Lethe. 
 For days Colonel Burton was like one in a stupor. He shut 
 himself up in liis room at the court-house and did not go out 
 for a week. When he c'id appear, however, at the head of his 
 regiment, paler and calmer than before, his soldiers remarked 
 a sterner determination than usual in his somewhat hardened 
 countenance and knew that he longed to cool in battle the 
 fever of revenge that was burning in his heart. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 GONE, CLEAN GOXE. 
 
 Claude Walsixgham was assigned to duty on the staff of 
 General Huger with head-quarters at ]S"orfolk. 
 
 Since the battle of Bull llun, on the 21st of July, there had 
 been but very little of importance done in the way of fighting 
 in the East. Both sides were busily recruiting and making 
 ready for the various movements which were to be made on 
 the checker-board of war in the coming spring. 
 
 McClellan was still at Washington and Johnston at Man- 
 assas. 
 
 The Confederates were fortifying Roanoke Island and other 
 points along the Southern coast, and the Federals at their 
 rendezvous at Fortress Monroe, gathering together their 
 fleets to capture those very same defenses. At Norfolk, every- 
 thing was quiet so far as the alarms of war were concerned ; 
 its debauched and heterogeneous population being only now 
 and then awakened from their Belshazzar-like feast by a 
 stray shot from some venturesome gun-boat, or the big can- 
 non at the Rip Raps. 
 
 The Cliristmas holiday's gave a week of renewed hilarity 
 and dissipation. Fireworks, balls, fairs, duels and what-nots 
 were the order of the day. Many disturbances occurred and 
 much disorder prevailed, on account of the lawless conduct of 
 the soldiers during this time, or the incompetency or unwill- 
 ingness of the military authorities to preserve the j)eace. 
 
 But while the general glow of excitement was sufficient to 
 satisfy the most reckless and dissipated warrior, there was a 
 class of pleasure-seekers who were in the doldrums, chagrined 
 and disappointed. Suddenly, and without an excuse save that 
 she had found at last a single heart to confide in, and a single 
 
fOM BtJRTON, lOf 
 
 arm to rest upon, Miss Buttercup had closed the doors of her 
 salon to the shoulder-strap gentry and instead of the weekly 
 soirees at her house to which they had been accustomed to 
 look forward with so much pleasure, there ceased to come to 
 229, a single invitation ; and that favored source of convivial- 
 ity was peremptorily cut off for the season. ^ 
 
 The fair enchantress had gone into seclusion, taking Claude 
 with her. She appeared at the operas, it is true, and was 
 seen often on the street, at reviews and other public places, 
 but never without Captain Walsingham. 
 
 Sometimes they walked out Church Street into the coun- 
 try, at others strolled through the well-kept grounds of the 
 marine hospital or roamed amid the magnolia groves which 
 bordered the western part of the city. Military society was 
 nonplussed. Unfledged captains and clodhopper lieutenants 
 were relegated to the slums of Xebraska Street. They had 
 nowhere else to go. Disappointment led to vituperation. 
 Green-eyed jealousy began to stalk abroad, and the flippant 
 tongue of scandal to wag. 
 
 They said that Claude Walsingham was throwing himself 
 away. Was he not closeted with the woman every night ? 
 Did he not neglect his duties for her ? A thousand and one 
 stories were afloat about him and her; until at length his 
 friends began to look coldly upon him and to cut him, and he 
 to return the compliment. Frequent quarrels occurred at 
 229, growing out of insinuations, innuendoes, and various 
 remarks of the kind in connection with Claude's attentions 
 to the lady in question, and peace no longer reigned in the 
 once delightful boarding-house. 
 
 There is one personage who is invincible. All the kings 
 and all the generals, with all their appliances and forces, are 
 futile when arrayed against her. Blockades are wholly in- 
 effective. Cordons of fortifications cannot for a moment de- 
 lay her progress. She is Madam Kumor. She travels afoot, 
 on horseback, and by steam. She walks the earth, flies 
 through the air and travels underground. Fast or slow, high 
 or low, she is bound to get there. 
 
 It was only a diversion for her to step over from Xorfolk to 
 the Eastern Shore. Blockade runners were often captured 
 and imprisoned, but Madam Eumor always escaped, and the 
 further she went the more she knew. The people of the 
 Eastern Shore knew ten times as much about Claude Walsing- 
 ham and Miss Buttercup as the denizens of Norfolk, and 
 they pretended to know enough to sink any two poor human 
 beings into the lowest depths of perdition. 
 
10^ TOM BXiBTOn, 
 
 It was a surprise to every body that Miss Buttercup, wlio 
 was indeed and in truth a woman of the world, so given to 
 vanity, ambition, and pleasure, should find in Claude — in 
 other words, should find in any one man — that satisfying por- 
 tion to which it had heretofore taken a whole world to con- 
 tribute. True, Claude was young and handsome, educated 
 and refined, and, what was equally essential, in possession of 
 some ready cash and drawing good pay ; but how long would 
 all these things last a woman like Miss Buttercup ? '' She 
 will treat him as she has treated others," said knowing ones 
 to the manner born. "He is a great fool to be caught in her 
 net," said another. " He is a faithless poltroon," said some of 
 his Eastern Shore friends who knew of his engagement to Miss 
 Moore. And so they talked. And in fact his conduct was 
 quite as inexplicable. Was he not risking too much ? Would 
 he not lose caste in the army ? He had a bright future be- 
 fore him if the war continued. The path of glory stretched 
 out invitingly. Would he spurn all these things, and, turn- 
 ing from the god of war, pay all his devotion at the shrine of 
 Hymen ? Would the Apollo-like brow with the locks of Jove 
 be placed supinely in the lap of his Circe, while the Sybarites 
 ravaged his country and destroyed her liberties with her 
 loved institutions ? 
 
 But did neither of them have respect for the rights of poor 
 Kate Moore ? Not she, surely, for had she not said that 
 every thing was fair in love and war ? Does ever one vain 
 and wicked woman suffer any abuse of conscience in prosely- 
 ting a man's heart from the object of his first adoration ? 
 Does she not always exult in the conquest ? There are some 
 courtesans, even, who have respect unto the rights of a mar- 
 ried woman, but what single woman, seeking a husband, cares 
 for or questions the relations growing out of a mere engage- 
 ment ? 
 
 ' The fact is, a woman flying the matrimonial flag is a free- 
 booter. She carries letters of marque and reprisal, and woe 
 be unto the merchandise of faith which another ventures to 
 freight in the heart of her betrothed. Am I too severe ? If 
 so, forgive me, for such has been my experience. 
 
 Alas ! to tell the truth, we very much fear that Miss Butter- 
 cup, in her profession, was a regular Captain Kidd, as ready 
 to rob poor Miss Kate Moore of Claude, as a buccaneer to 
 rifle a merchantman and then make the crew walk a plank 
 into the ocean. But lest we do her injustice by innuendo, let us 
 go on and look for facts, a course which will, no doubt, prove 
 more creditable to the writer and more interesting to the 
 reader. 
 
TOM BURTON. 109 
 
 It had only been a fortnight since Captain Evans had re- 
 turned to the Eastern Shore with his bags full of letters and 
 his pockets full of Confederate scrip, when Claude Walsing- 
 ham was found intoxicated on the street, and taken to the 
 guard-house. The circumstance was a shock to his friends, 
 and caused no little talk in military circles. But as it was 
 his first offense, and a thing of daily occurrence at that time 
 and place, very little notice was taken of it authoritatively, and 
 no report made to the general commanding. 
 
 For several days afterward, Claude conducted himself with 
 more circumspection, but did not relax, in the least, his at- 
 tentions to the siren of Freemason Street. His friends ad- 
 monished him, but in vain. He knew his own business, and 
 managed his own affairs, and begged that other people would 
 do the same. In this way the short month of the nativity 
 waned to its close. The season was unusually " severe for the 
 climate, and again it was snowing. 
 
 The old borough was wrapped in a mantle of soft white, 
 for snow in Virginia is softer, and if possible w^hiter, than it 
 is in Northern States, owing, no doubt, at that time, to the 
 fact of an atmosphere less impregnated with coal dust, and, 
 as the evening advanced and the street lamps were lighted, 
 the city took upon herself the appearance of fairyland ; while 
 the invigorating effects of the weather, combined with the 
 novelty of the scene, gave to municipal life an activity and 
 charm that was exhilarating, and a new impetus to the romp- 
 ing populace. 
 
 What if grim-visaged Janus did stand at the door ? What 
 if, just a few miles down the river, the dogs of war lay in their 
 kennels, ready to be unleashed ? 
 
 " Let us make merry," they said, '^ for to-morrow we die." 
 
 In the mellow, tinseled glow of that winter night, Claude 
 Walsingham walked through a crowded, bustling street, to 
 the more ruddy and comfortable parlors of Miss Buttercup, 
 gorgeous in velvet and satin, and filled with that subtle aroma 
 which surrounded her, with scarcely a thought of Kate ^loore. 
 or country, or even honor. 
 
 The fascinating woman met him in all her bewitching ra- 
 diance. Not attired as on the night of his first visit, but in 
 a black silk skirt, velvet jacket, gold lace trimmings, and open 
 vest. There was something in the tight-fitting basque that 
 gave to her matured form a voluptuousness that would have 
 furnished a model for the masters. The bust of a Venus was 
 enclosed in a corsage that conformed exquisitely to its pro- 
 portions. It was impossible to look upon Miss Buttercup 
 without admiring her. 
 
ilO Tom BUBToir. 
 
 "Welcome, my dear Captain," she exclaimed, as Claude 
 entered the salon. " I am glad you thought enough of me 
 to brave the snow-storm. My mind has been running on you 
 all day. I should have been so disappointed had you not 
 come. Assist me with the tete-a-tete. We will draw it before 
 the grate and, while it storms without, sweet peace shall reign 
 within. The front door is barricaded, and with no one to 
 disturb us, what shall prevent an evening of unalloyed hap- 
 piness ?" 
 
 " Nothing but capacity on my part to take it all in, thou 
 dispenser of heaven-born joys ! Let me invoke thy mercy as 
 little boys do who dip their fingers in the water they are 
 about to bathe in, and make with it a sign of the cross, lest 
 they drown in the very element that is to afford them so 
 much pleasure. Let me taste a little of what is in store for 
 me, lest I die in that day when thou shalt prove all gracious 
 and I may drink my fill of love ; " and, saying this, he drew 
 her to his breast and kissed her. Miss Buttercup did not 
 resist, but with burning cheeks said : 
 
 " There ; you think you are highly privileged, Captain 
 Walsingham, do j^ou ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my darling, I almost doubt my existence when I 
 think of my good fortune and your great condescension. I 
 deem myself the most favored man alive." 
 
 " The world is large. Captain, and contains a great many 
 people, and a person in sotiety has to meet a very great variety 
 of characters. It has been my lot to have many admirers, but 
 if I have, out of that number, chosen you to be my particular 
 friend, what business is it for any one to make remarks ? Are 
 we not both free, white, and twenty-one ? " 
 
 Claude winced, feeling a sort of damper to his ardor at the 
 mention of the word " free," but a glance at the radiant face 
 by his side reassured him. 
 
 " Such charms as yours, my own dear one, are enough to 
 break any bonds. Alas ! I feel that to sever my heart from 
 the ties which bind me to you now, would tear my heart out 
 by the roots." 
 
 " Then it should be the last of your thoughts to do such a 
 rash act, my dear Captain. I trust you will not attempt 
 such a wicked thing." 
 
 *' True, dearest ; and I never intend to." 
 
 Her small smooth hand with its tapering fingers and pink 
 nails, lay on her lap as if nestling in the folds of her rich 
 dress. Its outlines may be seen to-day in that of the 
 " Coquette/" which stands in the Metropolitan Art Gallery, 
 
TOM BURTON. HI 
 
 111 tlie Central Park, of the city of New York. And what a 
 hand ! Claude took it in his own and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 " Whoever wins this is more than a conqueror," he added. 
 
 " Suppose I should tell you that it was alreddy won, that 
 there only remained the formal delivery of it to the gallant 
 knight to whom it has been surrendered ? AVhat would you 
 say ? " 
 
 Claude was startled. 
 
 " If such be the case, spare me the pain of telling me. Do 
 not extinguish with one blow the fond conceit I have cher- 
 ished in my presumptuous heart, that I might aspire to its 
 conquest. By Heaven ! I could not survive and see it in anoth- 
 er's possession." 
 
 ^^ But if I should say that he who holds it now is rightful 
 owner, and is but entitled to his own ? " 
 
 "My cup of joy would run over. I should have no wish 
 ungratified. May I so interpret your meaning ? " 
 
 " Would you be true and constant ? Would you sacrifice 
 every thing for me ? " 
 
 " Every thing ! " exclaimed Claude, intoxicated with pas- 
 sionate delight. " Speak, darling, and make me happy for- 
 ever." 
 
 " Do not be too much excited, my dear boy. Don't you 
 know that those people who eat rapidly do not enjoy their 
 meals. This is a coarse figure to be sure, but the more prac- 
 tical the better understood. When you have grown calmer 
 you can better appreciate 3'our victory and enjoy your re- 
 past. In the rush of passion, pleasure is run over and abused. 
 Let us go slowl}^ that we may digest as we go. Forego, my 
 dear fellow, a little enjoyment to-night, that you may revel 
 in a sea of bliss in the near future." 
 
 " Did you not hold out a flag of truce, my own darling, I 
 should this moment storm the citadel." 
 
 " Be not so rash, my gallant Caj^tain. There is virtue iq 
 patience." 
 
 " But, my precious one, in this case procrastination is 
 agony. I live as in a dungeon, a vrretched prisoner bound 
 down by galling chains till you shall set me free." 
 
 '^ In that case, my dear Captain, I must confess to a like con- 
 dition. But, following the example of the belligerents who, 
 3^ou know, have at last now come to terms, I shall see that in a 
 few days we have a cartel for the exchange of prisoners. After 
 which we will declare the war ended, and all I have and am 
 shall be at your command. Does this satisfy you ? " 
 
 "Admirable woman! You make even delay tolerable by 
 
112 TOM BURTON. 
 
 your wonderful tact, and wliet the edge of anticipation b}-- 
 the fullness of the promises you make. I could wait for such 
 a consummation a lifetime, and live on the joy which ante- 
 dates it." 
 
 " There, Captain, you have said enough. Your devotion is 
 only equaled by yoxxv extravagances. And since nothing is 
 finished without a sacrament, let us seal the pledges we 
 have made to-night by consecrating to Bacchus." 
 
 So saying she arose and went and brought a bottle of wine, 
 which Claude uncorked ; and they mingled the mystic 
 rites of love with the fumes of alcohol, till surfeited with 
 both they reluctantly separated long after the hours of mid- 
 night, and again Claude Walsingham reeled home to his 
 boarding-house doubly intoxicated, and raised to the third 
 Heaven of an ecstatic hallucination. 
 
 He went to bed in a sort of dazed stupor, and slept like a 
 log until ten o'clock the next day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 The human passion we denominate Love, not unfre- 
 quently comes to us like the quickening impulses of human 
 life. Without the slightest perceptible warning, save the 
 flutter of a quivering wing, Cupid, like a terror-stricken dove, 
 homes himself in the unsuspecting heart, and by some occult 
 power of his, transforms us in a moment. Not only are we 
 ourselves recreated, but the whole universe has undergone, to 
 us at least, a metamorphosis so absolute, that we can never 
 look abroad again with the same feelings we did before. In 
 some such way the feeling came to Captain Evans' nephew 
 that night after they had left the landing at Moorefield with 
 the unknown lady passenger bound for the Western Shore. 
 
 It came about in this way: Impressed with the idea that 
 his merchandise had been discovered, the wary old boatman 
 made all haste to put as much space of land and water, but 
 especially the latter, between himself and the Yankee scouts 
 as possible. While the grand pyrotechnic display was going 
 on at Moorefield, adding its horrors to the strange events of 
 the disjointed times, the voyagers were pressing on with all 
 their might toward the mouth of the creek. 
 
 In its tortuous passage to the bay, this stream was, in cer 
 
TOM BURTON. 115 
 
 tain places, very narrrow and quite overlapped with pine and 
 cedar trees, little swept hj any wind that might blow. To 
 get out of such a place in a hurry could be accomplished only 
 by dint of rowing and paddling, of which enjoyable recrea- 
 tion Captain Evans and his nephew were taking their fill, 
 when suddenly, at a point near the mouth of the stream, the 
 tide being low, the flying craft struck a sand-bar and " took 
 up," throwing Sammy flat on his back in the bottom of the 
 canoe, and Captain Evans, who was steering, almost over the 
 head of the lady. Overboard, at the command of the irate 
 captain, went both he and the boy, and if ever human energy 
 M-as employed to its greatest capacity to effect an object, it 
 was expended here in this case. But all in vain, the canoe 
 would not stir. 
 
 '' This is very misfortionable," said Captain Evans, raising 
 himself up with his hand to his back. " It are still ebb tide, 
 and we uns will hev to lie here ontil mornin'. Somethin' has 
 got to be done with the cunner and things, or we uns moight 
 git kotched." 
 
 '^ And the young lady, uncle ; what shall we do with 
 her," whispered the boy, brushing the perspiration from his 
 brow, as they stood on the bank looking doubtfully at the 
 sulky boat. 
 
 " Hain't it easy enuff, you dummy, to hide her in the woods, 
 like a cow does her calf at milkin' time ? She's got legs, and 
 she kin walk. But that old cunner can't git up and go like 
 onto a Christian, you know, nor them goods ether." 
 
 " That remark ev yourn is true enuS, uncle, but I'll tell 
 you what we can do," said Sammy bristling with the fertility 
 of his inventive genius. The old captain thought any sug- 
 gestion in such an exigency worth considering, no matter the 
 source, so he eagerly inquired, in better humor : 
 
 " Well, what is that, my son ? " 
 
 " We can take the things outen her and sink her." Captain 
 Evans' disgust was poorly expressed in his reply. 
 
 " You tarnation fool ! Don't you see she is sunk already 
 as low as she kin git. I believe, my soul, the older you git 
 the bigger fool you git. Ef you hev got enny plan to offer 
 your poor old uncle to fotch him outen this scrape, why don't 
 you do so, and not stand thar a suggestin' your unpractical 
 propositions ? " 
 
 Sammy, who was not much given to loquacity, was awed 
 into respectful silence, as much by the high-sounding words 
 a,s the wrath of his vexed kinsman. 
 
 "No. I'll tell you jist what we uns hev got to do with 
 that cunner," he cofltinued, musingly. 
 
114 TOM BURTON. 
 
 " What is that, uncle ? " 
 
 " AVhy, jist let her lie right thar. The banks evthe creek 
 is high, and the tide bein' low, she will be concealed from 
 view. We uns will trow some pine bushes over her and take 
 to the woods ourselves, and wait till mornin'." 
 
 " But the young lady, uncle ? " 
 
 " Gineral Jackson and Pocahontas, Sammy ! Will you go 
 crazy about tlie young woman ? Don't you remagine I kin 
 look out fer her ? " 
 
 Sammy again collapsed. 
 
 " Howsomever, as long as you wants to be a doin' some- 
 thin' fer the 3"oiing lady, you kin wade in thar and fotch out 
 them overcoats and that buffalo-robe, and take and make a 
 sort ev shelter under the bushes for the young un, so she kin 
 cotch a nap thar in the woods. It are gettin' right smart 
 cold, and I presume she is not werry comfurtable cooped up 
 thar in the cunner like onto a possum in a gum." 
 
 If it had been daytime. Captain Evans might have seen 
 Sammy's face blossom into a smile as bland as summer-time, 
 as he made haste to carry into effect the commands of his 
 superior, who, by this time, had turned his back and gone 
 sauntering into the forest. 
 
 With the alacrity of one who delights in his job, Sammy 
 went to work and made a cosy bower under the cedar bushes, 
 with the aid of pine boughs and shatters, where he spread 
 the robe, leaving the overcoats for covering. But now, when 
 all was ready, the most difficult part of the problem presented 
 itself. How was he to get her out of the canoe ? There was 
 yet some water running down stream, and it would not do to 
 have the delicate passenger wade out to the shore. Her feet 
 would be cold all night if wetted now. 
 
 " I wish uncle war here this very minnit," tliought the boy 
 in his dilemma. 
 
 He did not know how to act. He was too diffident to offer 
 his services ; although the pleasure of clasping that de- 
 lectable little form in his arms, would be a pleasure beyond 
 his most extravagant calculations. 
 
 Necessity is not only the parent of invention, but the 
 vanquisher of obstacles both imaginary and real, so Sammy 
 could do nothing else but wade out to the boat and stammer : 
 
 " I hev restructed a nice place fer you out thar in the 
 bushes. Miss, and you kin now go ashore if you likes to." 
 
 The young lady stood up, and surveying the difficulty, 
 answered : 
 
 "But how am I to get there, Sammy ?" 
 
TOM BURTON, 115 
 
 " Indeed, Miss, I can't say, unles^you permit me to take 
 you thar," stammered Sammy. 
 
 " But you cannot carry me so far, can you ? " 
 
 " I can tote you to the beach on t'other side ev the county, 
 Miss," said the boy, urging his proposition with increasing 
 confidence. " Ef I was goin' to the moon I could tote you all 
 the way. Miss." 
 
 " Well, then, I suppose you will have to try. Don't drop 
 me, Sammy." 
 
 " Don't drap you ! No, Miss. Your mammy never rocked 
 you in the cradle safer nor I will carry you," he assured her, 
 as he, trembling, placed his arms about her slender body, 
 fumbling awkwardly with her hoop-skirts, which seemed to 
 be very much in his way. 
 
 The lady, smiling, yielded herself to his embrace, and was 
 landed on terra-jirina as easily as if she had been transported 
 in a balloon. 
 
 " Are we to remain here all night ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I s'pose so, Miss. We uns hev to wait fer the tide. 
 They say time and tide waits fer no man ; but we uns has 
 often to wait fer both." 
 
 " But are we not in danger of being discovered and capt- 
 ured ? " 
 
 " I hope not. Miss, uncle is on the track ev them ar Yan- 
 kees, and he is as cunning as a fox, and as sly as a mink. So 
 you jest sit down thar and make yourself easy, while I makes 
 up a fire. W^hen you gits a tired a settin' up, yo\x. kin lay 
 down and take a nap." 
 
 As the air was chilly, the young lady obeyed; while 
 Sammy began to gather sticks, and prepare his flint and 
 steel. It was not long before he had a warm blaze burning 
 at the feet of the girl, who had reclined herself under the 
 bower. The red light shone full in her face. Its sweetness 
 charmed the boy. 
 
 " Now, Miss, I calls this relightful. I'd rather be here than 
 in mammy's feather-bed. You may go to sleep whenever 
 you see proper," and as he went on he rubbed his hard hands 
 with a degree of perfect satisfaction. 
 
 " This is a hard business, Sammy." 
 
 " Hard, Ma'am, oh no. I calls this glorious." 
 
 " But suppose you should get caught ? " 
 
 " Uncle says, as how them fellers don't want to hurt we 
 uns. But I think he only talks that way to recourage me." 
 
 " What will you do after I go to sleep ? " 
 
 " Sot up and watch over you, Miss." 
 
116 TOM BURTON. 
 
 " But you will get sleepy yourself before morning." 
 
 " Oh, no, Miss, setten here and looking at you, so safe and 
 sound will keep me awake," he said, so thoughtlessly, that he 
 did not weigh his words until he had uttered them, when he 
 blushed at their import. 
 
 " Would it not be safer to find some house where we could 
 stay until the tide rises ? " 
 
 "There ar'n't any housens in this neighborhood. And ef 
 we uns should rummage about here too much, the niggers 
 mought find us out and blow on us." 
 
 " Then, I suppose, we must put up with our lot and be 
 satisfied." 
 
 " Jest so, Miss. La sakes alive, how interesten it is to see 
 you a lyin' thar so nice and kemfortable a takin' your rest. 
 Let me kiver you up. Now, thar you is as snug as a rabbit 
 in a sedge patch. This is what I calls romantic, Miss." 
 
 "Very romantic, Sammy," laughed the girl. ''But are jou 
 not uncomfortable, Sammy. Your feet are wet, I'm sure." 
 
 " Me a cold ! Why, bless your sweet life, lady, I'd never 
 git a cold a settin' here a w^eek a looking at you." 
 
 " I'm sorry I'm so much trouble to 3'ou." 
 
 " Trouble, you say, lady, trouble ? Ef you calls this trouble 
 I don't know what pleasure is. Wh}^, lady, I feel jest like a 
 jay-bird!" and the overflowing of Sammy's feelings got so 
 much the better of him that he was dancing round the fire 
 like a wild Indian, when a crackling of the underbrush an- 
 nounced the approach of some one, and his uncle reappeared. 
 
 Sammy's feathers dropped like a disgusted peacock's as the 
 old man cleared his throat and asked : 
 
 " Hev you been into that whisky, Sammy ? Your tongue 
 has been a runnin' all night, and now you've got it into j^our 
 feet. You'd a better be quiet and not allow yer 'tarnal 
 foolishness to run clean away with you ; fer mighty quar 
 proceedins is goin on up thar in the land. Thar are an al- 
 mighty great light in the sky in the 'rection of old Colonel 
 Moore's. It mought be the rawrorar ; but ef I'm not 
 mistaken, it looks to me as ef it war sombody's great house 
 afire. Them niggers are all run stark mad up thar, and be- 
 fore my Maker, I jest believe the world are comin' to an end. 
 Things will never be like they was afore — " 
 
 Looking after the condition of the girl, and assuring him- 
 self that she was comfortable, the old man, after instructing 
 Sammy to be quiet and keep a good look-out, started out again 
 to reconnoitre. 
 
 This turn of affairs pleased the boy amazingly. He could 
 
TOM BITBTON, 117 
 
 scarcely repress a chuckle of delight. Sitting down on the 
 ground over against his now sleeping charge, he clasped his 
 long legs in his arms and whistled " Dixie " in a low tone as 
 gayly as a mocking bird. 
 
 " Gro to sleep, ni}^ little Duckie. You jest needn't keer 
 fer mortal man. You is jest as safe as ef you was in Heaven. 
 You jest consider yourself thar already and me angel Gabrill 
 a watchin' over jou. You is an angel anj^way. You is sent 
 to cheer we uns up." — The girl winked her eyes and Sammy 
 took up his " Dixie " a mite confused. " Is you serficiently 
 warm. Miss ? " 
 
 " My feet are not as warm as I could desire them to he." 
 
 " Why, bless my life ! these little footsie-tootsies is unkiv- 
 ered. Thar, now, I'll bet they coodn't git acold any more ter 
 night. Don't think about me. Miss, I'm a — a — raccoon, I'm 
 a owl, I'm a regular old watch gaoder." 
 
 The boy's behavior was so comical the girl found it impos- 
 sible to sleep. So she essayed to talk a while. 
 
 " Are you going to the war, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Ef uncle would ' low me I would." 
 
 " What do you want to fight for, Sammy ? " 
 
 " What does anybody want to fight for, lady ? " 
 
 "Well, folks have different notions. Some for country, 
 some for their property, and some for wife and children, and 
 all such as that.'^ 
 
 "And some, I s'230se, for sweethearts," added Sammy. 
 
 "Yes, and some for sweethearts." 
 
 " And ef I jest had one ev them I'd fight fer her untwill 
 I died." 
 
 "I expect you would, Sammy for you are a good boy." 
 This pleased him very much. 
 
 " But I want ter ax yer one question, Miss, can a feller hey 
 a gal, and she not know it ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly, Sammy, and she may never know it un- 
 less he tells her." 
 
 " You mought hev one in your mind, moughten you ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " It's mighty hard to tell a gal that you loves her, I 
 should guess. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "Well, as I am a girl myself, Sammy, I don't know how- 
 it is. But I should not consider it very difficult." 
 
 "Whew ! I think it awful hard. Miss. Would you mind 
 tellin' a feller the first word of courtship ? " 
 
 " There is not any particular way, Sammy. I have heard 
 that sometimes a mere look is sufficient." 
 
118 TOM BUttTOK. 
 
 " Then ef I sees a gal what I likes I'm gwine to look at 
 her mighty strong, jest like I shall set here and look at j'-ou 
 all night. But jour eyes will be shut and you will be dream- 
 in of some other feller all the time. Has you enny feller ? " 
 
 The girl did not reply. She was either asleep or making 
 believe she was. Sammy, a little disappointed and crest- 
 fallen, said to hijnself : " She am asleep. Ef a feller couldn't 
 fight fer that ar critter he couldn't fight for nothin'. Ef I 
 war grammar larnt it wouldn't be so bad." Creeping softly 
 under the bower, he carefully adjusted the overcoats about 
 the tired sleeper, and again took his place outside by the fire. 
 
 It was morning when Captain Evans came running down 
 to the boat, calling Sammy to turn to and help him launch 
 the boat over the sand. The tide had risen considerably. 
 
 "Let's git out into the bay as quick as possible, it are safer 
 out thar. The Yankees is all down thar to the landin' and 
 ole Colonel Moore's house are burned down to the ground, and 
 ole Missus Moore perished in the flames. Don't say nothin' 
 to the gal, but hurry." 
 
 " These is awful times, uncle." 
 
 "Yes, and the sooner we uns gits away from here the 
 better." 
 
 Sammy needed no greater incentive tlian tlie excited man- 
 ner of the old man, and taking the painter over his shoulder, 
 while his uncle shoved behind, the canoe was soon put into 
 water deep enough to float a ship. 
 
 The young girl was lifted into the boat, this time by the 
 old man, and tumbling in the overcoats and buffalo-robes 
 Sammy followed m' ith all the despatch the occasion called for. 
 
 It was well for them that they reached the bay as soon as 
 they did, for they had scarcely got beyond gunshot when a 
 detachment of cavalry rode down to the shore and began 
 firing at them. 
 
 The girl screamed with fright, and Sammy bowed his head 
 like a duck at the shadow of a passing cloud ; but the old 
 man sat bolt upright, and guided the canoe, which was mak- 
 ing good speed before a brisk breeze from the eastward. 
 The shot fell far behind them, and the soldiers seeing that 
 they were too late, turned back and rode away. By ten o'clock 
 the wind ceased and the day grew dull and hazy. This suited 
 Captain Evans, as he did not wish to approach the roads until 
 nightfall, and as boats were scarce along the bay shore he had 
 very little fear of being pursued. 
 
 Thus they drifted slowly over, trusting themselves to the 
 mercy of the tides and the whims of the weather. As the 
 
TOM BURTON-. 119 
 
 afternoon came on the little party began to show signs of 
 weariness. Captain Evans, usually jolly, looked taciturn and 
 crabbed. While Sammy, with his eyes worn out, at gazing 
 at the fair stranger, nodded and blinked, like an owl in the 
 day time. 
 
 " Gineral Jackson and Pocahontas ! Sammy, you'll star the 
 lady outten countenance ef you set thar and wink at her in 
 that way. Don't you know it am imperlite to wink at a 
 young lady ? " 
 
 Sammy assured his uncle that he was not winking. 
 
 " But you is. Now ef you feels sleepy, why don't you creep 
 under the foreseat, and lie down ? " 
 
 Sammy did not move, but rubbing his eyes, averted his at- 
 tention, looking out over the bay. 
 
 " That boy's a curiosity. Miss, so you needn't mind him. 
 He's got some devilment into his head, I can't kalkerlate for." 
 
 " I must put in a word for the boy. Captain, he didn't 
 sleep a wink last night." 
 
 " Nor he never would agin, ef he had you to look at." 
 
 " He's a good boy. Captain." 
 
 " Yes, he are good enuff. But reclined to odd ways, when 
 company's about." Sammy still continued to gaze seaward, 
 his face wearing a painful expression. 
 
 " Jest look at him, now. He looks as ef he war leavin' the 
 Eastern Sho' for the last time. I surpose he is taken an 
 obsarvation ev the lower limb ev the emensity ev space. ^ It's 
 only lately, I resure you, that he's got into sech a philoso- 
 phers] c mood. I'm af eared he will jump overboard some of 
 these days, or do himself some bodily harm. Please don't do 
 anything rash, Sammy, boy ; your angel mother would never 
 find it in her heart to forgive me ef anything should happen 
 to you." 
 
 Such a tirade as this made the boy bite his lips. 
 
 The young girl saw the effects of the badinage of the old 
 man, and once more pleaded for him, telling his uncle how he 
 had watched over her all night and how sensitive he was. 
 
 " I'm sure you do not mean any harm by what you say ; 
 but it hurts his feelings very much." 
 
 " Well, I s'pose it does. But he'll git all over it afore he's 
 twice married. It are all because you are here that he acts 
 so. But as I war sayin' he is a good bo}^ arter all, and on the 
 Evans side of the house has as good blood and family as flows 
 in the veins ev any 'ristocrat on the Eastern Sho'." 
 
 " I really don't know how I shall ever reward him for his 
 kindness to me last night," said the girl. 
 
120 TOM BURTON. 
 
 ^' You must bar liini and we uns up in your prars, Miss. 
 His angel mother will tliank 3^ou, ef he doesn't. 
 
 " So I will, Captain." 
 
 " Haul out that ar fried chicken, Sammy, and sassage. 
 This little un is hungry, by this time, I know. Thar are some 
 biskit under tliar too. You may jest pass me the bottle. I 
 think a good pull will put me into a better humor." 
 
 " I wish somethin' would stop your mouth," muttered the 
 boy as he obeyed. 
 
 The lunch was spread on a seat, but the boy refused to touch 
 anything. 
 
 " Which is all owin' to the fact of your presence. Miss. Ef 
 you wa'n't here he would eat equalize to a alligator," remarked 
 Captain Evans as he wielded the back of a chicken very dex- 
 terously with one hand, while he guided the canoe with the 
 other. 
 
 Thus as they sat and chatted, the voyage grew nearer and 
 nearer its end ; while daylight faded into twilight, and twi- 
 light into darkness, and the great sea came rolling in at the 
 capes, as it did two hundred and Mty 3'ears before, wdien old 
 Sir Christopher i^J'ewport sailed up the roads 
 
 CHAPTEPv XY. 
 
 THE LITTLE SISTER. 
 
 The well known camp-fire of the coast-guard guided the 
 blockader to his welcome and secure harbor, where he safely 
 landed by ten o'clock that night. The hospitalities of the 
 camp were graciously bestowed upon the female passenger, 
 and in the morning the ambulance was loaded up as formerly 
 and the same journey undertaken to the city, as we have be- 
 fore described, the young lady bearing its fatigues remarkably 
 w^ell, but as reticent as to her name and history as she had 
 been at the landing, from whence they started. 
 
 They drove into the city earlier than on the former oc- 
 casion, having made the journey in less time. 
 
 At the junction of Mariner and Church streets, the un- 
 known passenger informed her friends that she must leave 
 them, as she had business with the pastor of St. Marj^'s 
 Catholic Church. She was profuse in her thanks for the 
 kindness that had been bestowed upon her, almost shedding 
 tears as she took her leave • and charging the old man to be 
 
TOM BURTON. V2l 
 
 kind to the boy, she took her leave of them, carrying a small 
 hand-satchel, the only baggage she had with her. Sammy 
 looked after her with a longing gaze, never averting his at- 
 tention until she had disappeared behind the corner of the 
 street. 
 
 Let us follow her. From Mariner Street the girl proceeded 
 on her way to Chapel Street, then turning south, she walked 
 to Holt Street. On the south corner of the latter she came to a 
 beautiful church, the tall spire of which seemed to pierce the 
 wintry sky. The last ra^'s of the setting sun flooded its 
 gothic facade with golden light. Surely it was a command- 
 ing edifice, with its pinnacled eaves and artistic proportions, 
 inspiring hope in the breast of the now weary stranger, as 
 she halted for a moment and gazed with awe-inspired feelings 
 upon it. A few steps beyond, and to the rear of the church, 
 was the parsonage. The unknown stopped in front of this 
 house, ascended the steps, and pulled the bell. Before doing 
 so, she had carefully read the name of Eev. John OTarrel on 
 the door-plate. She had not long to wait. A servant met her 
 at the door and conducted her to the study of the priest. The 
 rotund and jolly-looking father was seated at a table in 
 the centre of the room. A student lamp, ornamented by 
 figures of the saints on the shade, a profusion of periodicals, 
 some books, a crucifix and writing materials of various kinds, 
 were scattered here and there around and about him. Every- 
 thing in the room had the appearance of richness, learning 
 and comfort. The priest did not rise from his seat, but mo- 
 tioned the girl to take a chair. There was one in convenient 
 reach on the opposite side of the table from where he sat. 
 This, the weary-looking visitor gratefully appropriated. The 
 churchman regarded her in silence, as if waiting to hear her 
 story. 
 
 "This is Father O'Farrel, I believe ? '^ 
 
 " Yes ; what can I do for you ? '^ His voice was gentle and 
 reassuring. 
 
 " Much, Father," was the somewhat emotional reply. 
 
 The priest noticed the earnestness of the young girl, and 
 betrayed signs of awakening interest to know her errand. 
 
 " I would be a Sister," she said. 
 
 "What has been your religious training, my young friend, 
 and who and where are your parents ? " 
 
 " My antecedents are Protestant. In replying to your 
 other question, I can only say that I am of age. Please be 
 kind enough^ at this time, to spare me a recital of my 
 family history. On some future occasion I will be pleased 
 to relate it." 
 
122 TOM BURTOK, 
 
 "But do you not think, my child, it will take you a long 
 time, even in the constant use and practice of penance and 
 prayer, to fit yourself for the arduous duties of a Sister of 
 Charity ? '' 
 
 "For one, Father, who has made up her mind to serve God 
 in the Church of his Son, and through the mediation of the 
 Blessed Virgin, I feel there are no difficulties too great to 
 overcome ; no cross too onerous to bear. At all events, I am 
 ready for the sacrifice." 
 
 " Have you considered, my child, how hard to remove are 
 the prejudices of early education, especially in matters of re- 
 ligious faith and practice ? " 
 
 "I think I have seriously and prayerfully considered all 
 these things. To present myself before 3'ou for this work, I 
 must say (but not in a boastful spirit) I have braved a great 
 many dangers and hardships. I am ready to endure more." 
 
 " How so, my child ? You do indeed look weary." 
 
 " I have come many miles, some of them by sea, in an open 
 boat." 
 
 " Then you must have run the blockade ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And all for the purpose of becoming a Sister of Charity ?" 
 
 "Yes, Father." 
 
 " Surely it has taken some faith to do all that, m}^ little 
 friend, and I must commend you for your zeal, if not for your 
 discretion." 
 
 " When G(M calls, sir, he has no respect for policy. I 
 want to become His servant. I have left the vain world be- 
 hind. My past life has been one of turmoil andunhappiness. 
 If, by self-sacrifice and good works I can find that rest for 
 my soul which I seek, I shall be content. If I cannot find it 
 in the life and vocation of a Sister of Charity, it is not for me 
 on earth. Please, sir, do not send me from j'-ou." 
 
 The priest seemed to reflect a moment. He resumed : 
 
 "For one so young and beautiful as you appear to be, your 
 undertaking is a serious matter ; I might say, a perilous one. 
 To become a Sister of Charity is to discover a character ex- 
 perienced, strong in fortitude, and thoroughly disciplined. 
 From your appearance, your life has not been a severe one, 
 physically. You have never seen any rough usage. Sup- 
 pose you become a Catholic and leave out the orders ? " 
 
 "In doing that. Father, I should take the orders in my 
 heart, and I should have the faith without the works, the 
 burden without the recompense. I can afford to take the 
 risk. By and by, when you shall have become acquainted 
 
TOM BURTON. 123 
 
 with my antecedents and family, you will not be afraid to 
 trust me. I shall never bring reproach upon my profession, 
 or disgrace my vows." 
 
 "You are very enthusiastic, my child, and your conversa- 
 tion shows you to be a young woman of good breeding. Are 
 you really prepared, at your age, to renounce the world and 
 all its vain pomp and glory, to take upon yourself the solemn 
 vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, with all the sacrifice 
 which is implied by the adoption of a life such as these vows 
 impose ? To tread in the footsteps of the Divine Master, even 
 to the summit of Golgotha, and there to kneel, with the other 
 female friends of the Son of God, at the foot of the cross, in 
 the very midst of his crucifiers ? " 
 
 " If I were not resigned to such a service, dear father, I 
 had never crossed the water to come to you. So far from 
 dreading, or fearing it, I welcome it as the surest road to 
 happiness here and hereafter, which is said to be the chief 
 end of man." There was a pause. 
 
 '^ You are, I believe, a Southern lady ? " 
 
 I am not of the North." 
 " Have you not with us all looked forward to the time not 
 far in the future when the South shall have gained her iu- 
 dependence, when it shall be so remunerative to be of the gay 
 world ; when the chivalry of the olden times shall be restored, 
 and the young Confederacy become the most favored of the 
 nations of the globe. The Church even rejoices in the glory 
 which shall come to her in that event. Would you care to 
 be a nun then ? " 
 
 '' Alas, Father, do not speak to me of the war. It can not 
 affect my future, end as it may. I had no hand in its begin- 
 ings, I can scarcely have a wish in its termination except 
 that I pray God to bring it to an early close, that the agonies 
 of the battle-field may be averted, and peace may come to a 
 distracted country. For myself, nothing ! " 
 
 " We scarcely find one so disinterested, especially one of 
 your sex." 
 
 " To nurse the sick and wounded while it lasts and then to 
 retire to some convent where there is rest, is all that I de- 
 sire." 
 
 She pronounced the word rest with a sigh that touched 
 the priest's heart, as did the tears which started from her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Poor child," he said, sympathetically, as he rose from 
 his seat, and, walking to her side, placed his hand upon her 
 head, " the world is in4eed hard and cold to one whose heart 
 
124 TOM BURTON, 
 
 is as tender as yours. I scarcely know wliat to say to you. 
 The life you seek is full of sacrifices. Once enlisted in this 
 work, and wherever the Church commands you to go, even 
 though it be into the very jaws of death, you must obey. Are 
 you, indeed, ready to give up your entire future and to sanc-^ 
 tify yourself entirely to the work of Christ ? Can you bear 
 to see yourself grow into mature womanhood, with all a wo- 
 man's vanity, and all a woman's matronly desires ungratified, 
 and then to relapse into old age and decrepitude, like a 
 barren fruitless tree, with no living friend but the Church 
 and the members of your order to soothe your declining life 
 and smooth your death-jjillow — I say, can you bear all this ? " 
 
 The solemn manner of the priest filled the soul of the girl 
 with awe, but did not shake her in her resolution. 
 
 " The time might have been, but never has come into my 
 shattered poor life, when these things you speak of might 
 have had an influence over me in casting my future. As I 
 have thus far escaped such temptations, I have now no 
 fears." 
 
 At that moment her rich brown hair, but imperfectly cared 
 for, rolled out from its confines and flooded her with a crown 
 of glory. 
 
 " Even this," said the priest, in the same solemn voice, 
 " thou must part with." 
 
 She cast a side-long glance at the flowing tresses which 
 almost enveloped her in their ample magnitude, and again a 
 tear sparkled in her eye. 
 
 The priest regarded her in pitiful silence. It seemed as 
 though all the past and all the future was passing before the 
 mind of the suffering girl. 
 
 At last, falling at the feet of the man of Grod, she broke 
 the painful silence. " Here, Father, cut it off now, I am 
 ready at this moment to make the sacrifice." 
 
 The priest was touched to the quick at the girl's simple 
 devotion. Taking her by the hand, he raised her to her feet. 
 
 " Poor earth-bound spirit, I am ready to relieve you from 
 your anguish and help you all I can. Put up your hair and 
 prepare to follow me to the hospital of St. Vincent de 
 Paul. I will take you to Sister Matilda. She will teach you 
 our catechism, and so soon as you are able to pass the neces- 
 sary examination, you shall be admitted into the sisterhood. 
 Afterward, if jom still desire to enter the sisterhood, you may 
 become a novice for the term of five years, and if at the end 
 of that time 3-ou still remain a faithful child of the Church, 
 you may take the final vows and be received into full connec' 
 
TOM BURTOy. 125 
 
 tion with the order. You are very tired now and need re- 
 pose. Come with me, my child." 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 A FRACAS. 
 
 Whex Claude Walsingham awoke from his deep stupor on 
 the day following his last evening with the lovely Miss But- 
 tercup, he could scarcely realize his whereabouts, so stupid 
 had he been in the Lethe of that woman's charms and her 
 wine. 
 
 But whether from a condition of physical reaction or men- 
 tal and moral conviction, his awakening was anything but 
 pleasant. 
 
 His slumber, though unbroken as that of an infant, had 
 not been by any means as refreshing. 
 
 Had he been the subject of nightmares as horrid as those 
 of Macbeth, he could not have felt more sore in mind and 
 body than he did. 
 
 No angels had whispered to him whilst he slept, no inno- 
 cent smiles had played about his lips in response to their vis- 
 its. Strangely enough, his waking thoughts were not of Miss 
 Buttercup, nor of the promised time when she would be all 
 his own. There seemed to impress him some unwelcome mem- 
 ory, vague and uncertain as the memory of some unrecalled 
 vision of the night, which in its passing had furrowed his 
 brain as the thunderbolt furrows the forest pine. There 
 were cowardly sensations of unkept vows, gaping wounds of 
 dishonored character, and feelings of soiled and tarnished rep- 
 utation. A loathsome meanness seemed to creep up and 
 down his form like hateful vermin or poisonous reptiles. 
 
 He arose nervously and began to dress. His clothes did 
 not fit. They were rumpled and limpy, and several times he 
 imagined that bugs as large as beetles were crawling over 
 them. There was a sweet sickening odor about them that 
 disgusted him. Without waiting to take a bath, he threw his 
 coat on and rushed to the street. He found a saloon, entered, 
 and called for brandy. He swallowed it, loathing it as he did so. 
 He ordered another glass, drank that with a better ap- 
 petite, waited ten or fifteen minutes and drank again. Then 
 feeling better, he went back to his boarding-house to break- 
 fast. By this time his nausea had abated, his eyesight was 
 
126 TOM BURTON. 
 
 in a normal condition and his conscience at rest. At the 
 boarding-house he met his old friends, Captain Evans and 
 Sammy, got his letters and learned the sad news of the burn- 
 ing of Moorefield and the death of Mrs. Moore. The news 
 seemed to stun him at first and he sat with his head bowed 
 down as if lost in thought. " God, it's bad, very bad ! " That 
 is what he said. Then, as if he wished to it all put out of 
 his mind completely, he said : " Come, Evans, let's go get a 
 drink." 
 
 They went out together, drank until evening, came home 
 to dinner, and by eight o'clock at night he was back again at 
 Miss Buttercup's, having left old Captain Evans in a state of 
 fury at his unceremonious departure for Ereemason Street. 
 He had not returned at three o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Meanwhile, the old blockader, disgruntled as a bear with a 
 pounded head and quarrelsome as a wet hen in her moulting 
 season, determined to paint the old town of Norfolk a color of 
 deeper hue than his own nose, and feeling in a condition to 
 knock down and drag out any man who had the temerity to 
 stumble across his path, he prevailed on several of the officers 
 boarding at 229 to accompany him, and at once set out to 
 have a circus of his own. It was already eleven o'clock be- 
 fore they started. 
 
 In vain, Sammy, as sober as a judge and as sleepy as a boy 
 could well be, pleaded with his uncle not to go out, but re- 
 tire to bed. "I'm jest agoin' out with the boys, Sammy, 
 to hev a little spree, and j^ou kin jest go to bed — hie — and go 
 to sleep, and not be a botherin' arter me. I'll be back — hie — 
 in an hour or two." 
 
 " Uncle, you've had enough to drink already," said Sam- 
 my, taking the risk of displeasing his already intoxicated 
 uncle. 
 
 " Samuel, do you comprehend who it is — hie — you are re- 
 dressing ? You must recollect that I am your angel mother's 
 own brother, and to insult him — hie — is to insult your own 
 flesh and blood. Ef you wants to retire you kin do so. Ef 
 it is your retention to offer any revice to me — hie — in regards 
 to my conduct, or as to how much, or how little I am to 
 rebibe, you will realize that silence is the better part ev — hie — 
 the better part ev — hie — behavior, for a boy." 
 
 " Well, then, uncle, ef you is retermined to go I'm agwine 
 too. You're in no condition to go on the street at this time 
 o' night, anyway." 
 
 Now, seaport towns have always some bad places in them, 
 and drunken men are sure to find them, To this rule, ouy 
 
TOM mrnTon, 127 
 
 city-by-tlie-sea has never been the exception in its most 
 moral days, much less was it in war times. 
 
 Those who know will bear the writer out in the assertion 
 that vice of certain character is more open-faced and brazen 
 in this old borough, than in any city of its size in the United 
 States, Cincinnati not excepted. 
 
 What must it not have been in the last days of 1861 ? 
 
 On the night in question, Church Street, from Main to 
 Water Street, was a seething, surging mass of corruption 
 and blasphemy. All day long, the gaudily attired denizens 
 of that brothel-quarter had sat in their windows, behind 
 their lace curtains, with painted faces, and endeavored to 
 entice the new soldier or unsophisticated country lad, into 
 their hellish dens. 
 
 Sawdusted saloons, with their whisky-reeking odors and 
 voluptuous pictures, and their trained parrots shrieking out 
 their coarse and vulgar jargon, yawned to swallow up the 
 unwary idler as a shark would gulp down a herring. 
 
 Women in flowing wrappers and dainty slippers, colored 
 transoms over fancifully painted doors, and lasciviously 
 frescoed halls, the merry sound of the violin and tambourine, 
 and the shuffling of many feet keeping time to obscene 
 music — all lent their enticing charms to a scene but poorly 
 described. 
 
 As night came on to make the picture more delightful 
 still, drunken men in gangs roamed the streets, hitting here 
 and stabbing there, and women crazed with liquor, filled the 
 air with curses or thrilled the ear wdth their hysterical 
 shrieks. 
 
 Half-way down Church Street, going toward Union, was 
 a variety show — a sort of play-house, where tables were set, 
 and waiter girls dispensed beer and other drinks, a stage on 
 which model artists posed, and negro minstrels sang, in the 
 rear of which, and behind the curtain, wine flowed, and tlie 
 coryphees of the ballet were dandled on the knees of their 
 patrons. Captain Evans and his posse of tipsy friends, 
 with the vouth Sammy, the only sober one in the lot, made 
 straight for this den. I say " straight," the word does not con- 
 vey the meaning, but the reader can catch the idea. It was 
 nearly time for the play to break up when they arrived there, 
 and many of the sight-seers had departed, but those who 
 still remained were noisy and drunken. Bad whisky, loud 
 songs, and louder representations, had heated the blood of 
 the vicious habitues of the place, and they were ready " to 
 knock down and drag out " at the slightest provocation. 
 
128 TOM BUBTOK. 
 
 Captain Evans was as drunk as he generally got, but liad 
 managed to keep in a good humor. 
 
 " Samuel, Samuel — " he always called the boy Samuel 
 when he was in his cups — 
 
 " Samuel, Samuel, look a-thar at that gal over thar. She 
 are as good-lookin as j^our little black-eyed 'un what crossed 
 the bay with we uns last night. Hain't she though ? ' 
 
 " Hush, uncle, 3''ou don't comprehend what you're talkin' 
 about. Ef you wants to discourse an3'thing, don't mention 
 that lady's name in this place. She are too good a gal to be 
 thought on in sich a hole as this." 
 
 " Samuel, you must not tell your old uncle to hush. Sich 
 disrebedience fer a lad ev your age is be^-and fergiveness, 
 and ef you open j^our mouth to reproof me again, I will hit 
 you a punch in the jaw or my name's not Revel Evans." He 
 turned to his companions and continued : 
 
 " Come, boys, let's have some beer. It's war times, and 
 we mought jest as w^ell be gay as not. Its none on us knows 
 how long we uns will be here. Some Yankee bullet or a 
 small twist of hemp will likely settle all on us before another 
 Christmas. So — 
 
 ' Let the wide world wag as it will, 
 
 We'll be gay and happy still, 
 Happy still — hie ' " 
 
 " Stop that are howlin thar," roared a tar-heel — a regular 
 cracker, at least six feet tall. 
 
 "Do you hear that clay-eatin scoundrel, a blackguardin' of 
 your poor — hie — old uncle — hie — Samuel ? " 
 
 " Come, uncle, let's go to the boarding-house. It's a shame 
 fer we uns to be in such a place as this, this time o' night." 
 
 " Will you stand that, Samuel, my own sister's child, and 
 see your poor — old uncle 'posed on by a d cracker ? " 
 
 " Come, uncle. There'll be a row here to-night and you 
 must go home." 
 
 "You're a sneakin' coward, Sam — " 
 
 "Who's a stinking coward ?" again roared the tar-heel, 
 rushing up to the blockader. 
 
 " My uncle is intoxicated and doesn't know what he is say- 
 ing. Please excuse him. I want ter git him to go home," 
 said Sammy. 
 
 " You had better not say that I am a coward ! You 
 jest call me a cracker again, and I'll smash ye," said the un- 
 appeased Carolinian, poking his fist up into Captain Evans' 
 face. 
 
TOM BURTON. 129 
 
 "What do you mean by insulting an Eastern Sho' gentle- 
 man, you dirt-eatin', yellow-fin, tar-heel," replied Captain 
 Evans, pugnaciously ; and as he spoke he made a pass at the 
 Carolinian, brushing the stump of a cigar from his mouth, 
 setting fire to his heavy mustache. 
 
 The tar-heel recovered himself as soon as his intoxicated 
 condition would admit, and staggering up to his aged adver- 
 sary, gave him such a stunning blow that the old fellow went 
 to the ground. 
 
 Sammy was for a moment irresolute, but only for a mo- 
 ment. Then, with the ferocity of a tiger robbed of her 
 whelj^s, he pitched into his uncle's assaulter and fought hand- 
 over-fist, without method or science, but with terrible effect, 
 and beat, bruised, and mangled the luckless offender until his 
 mother would have failed to recognize him. 
 
 At this juncture ensued a terrible riot. Canes, knives, 
 beer bottles, and pistols were used with indiscriminate reck- 
 lessness, and many serious wounds were inflicted before the 
 police could muster force enough to stop the ensanguined 
 affray. Captain Evans, perhaps the most drunken man in 
 the lot, was the least hurt of all ; and during the excitement 
 attending the melee, managed to crawl out from among the 
 fighters, and with his friends reached the boarding-house 
 near morning. 
 
 But Sammy was by no means as fortunate. With two 
 black eyes and a broken rib, the boy was snatched up by the 
 officers and marched off to the station. 
 
 When Captain Evans awoke next morning, as fresh and 
 jolly as if he had slept all night and had never seen a drop of 
 whisky in his life, he was shocked to find that Sammy was 
 missing. " That boy is locked up, sure. This is all werry 
 misfortionable, and nobody's fault but mine. I orter been 
 kicked afore gittin' him in sich a scrape. Ef I had a listened 
 to him, this mought not hev recurred." 
 
 So much was he troubled that he could not partake of any 
 breakfast, and as soon as he thought the maj'or's court was 
 in session, he repaired thither with his pockets well crammed 
 with the money of the day, sure in his mind that a few dol- 
 lars would be the extent of the punishment, and he would be 
 allowed to take his nephew back with him to lunch. 
 
 He was not long in finding out that Sammy was arrested, 
 and being told to wait, he sat himself down in the court-room 
 until his honor appeared. 
 
 ■' Your boy is charged with inciting a riot at the Varieties 
 last night; or rather this morning, sir,'^ said the mayor upon 
 
130 TOM BURTON, 
 
 taking his seat. "And furthermore, the charge seems to be 
 pretty fully sustained. It was, sir, a very serious affair. 
 How many people were hurt was not ascertained. Several 
 were cut and are now in the city hospital. The charge is a 
 serious one, and will go hard with the young man, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 Captain Evans stood with his head bowed over the railing 
 which divided the impersonation of justice from the common 
 rabble, and listened sorrowfully to the remarks of the mayor. 
 
 "But your honor, he are nothiu' more nor a child, and it 
 war all my own fault, jedge." 
 
 "A prett}^ big boy to beat a man like the one I saw. As 
 to whose fault it was, that's another thing." Then turning 
 to one of the officers who was present when the arrest was 
 made, he inquired : " What sort of a chap is this one you 
 arrested ? " 
 
 " A big, strapping fellow, sir ; as strong as a mule and as 
 supple as a cat. Why, your honor, it took six of us to put 
 him in irons. He's a rowdy, sir, of the first water." 
 
 Captain Evans straightened himself up slowly, and 
 measuring the officer up and down, said : 
 
 " You are a dirty liar ! and ef you war not in this temple 
 ev jestis, I would smash the life outen ye ! " 
 
 "Silence, sir. How dare you use such language in this 
 place. From your conduct, sir, you are not a whit better 
 than your nephew. If you are not careful, I will have you 
 taken care of also." 
 
 " I most respectfully beg your honor's pardon," apologized 
 Captain Evans, with a profound obeisance, " but that poor 
 boy are as innercent as yerself, jedge." 
 
 "This is bosh," retorted his honor. "My men are truth- 
 ful, and I will not allow them to be brow-beaten in my pres- 
 ence. You Eastern Shoremen come here to this city, get 
 drunk, and think you can do as jow. please. The boy is guilty, 
 and will have to suffer his punishment." 
 
 "Well, well, jedge; I see as how you uns is all in cohoot, 
 aftd I mought as well settle it. How much is the fine, sir ? " 
 and Captain Evans out with his wallet. 
 
 " This court doesn't take bribes, old man. The sentence is 
 that your nephew serve in the chain-gang for thirty daj^s." 
 
 "Gineral Jackson and Pocahontas ! jedge ; you is the un- 
 kindest and unjustest man I ever saw." 
 
 " Hush up your abuse, I tell you. This is a light sen- 
 tence for the offense, and if j^ou don't like it, he can appeal to 
 court and be sent up to the penitentiary for six months or a 
 
TOM BURTON. 131 
 
 year. Do you understand that ? Come, now, step aside." 
 
 " And all my own fault," groaned Captain Evans. " What 
 will his angel mother say to me ef I go back without him. 
 Jedge, this is misfortionable. That boy is the only son of 
 my sister. She is an 'umman what is a Christian. Ef she 
 hears her son is sarvin' in the chain gang, it will kill her sure, 
 Jedge. This is a werry hard case." 
 
 The contrite manner of the old sailor had some effect upon 
 the Mayor. In a kinder, but no less authoritative tone, he 
 said: 
 
 "There is one way to get out of this trouble. They are 
 enlisting men for Eoanoke Island. If your nephew will en- 
 list in the army, I will let him off with a fine of ten dollars ; 
 otherwise, I tell you plainly, sir, once for all, he must go in 
 the chain-gang." 
 
 " You are werry kind, jedge," replied Captain Evans with 
 an accent on the word " kind." " Eor an Evans, death are 
 preferable to dishonor. Ef that is your recision, I suppose 
 we uns has nothin' more to do than rebide by it. Kin I see 
 the boy a moment ? " 
 
 "Yes. Here, sergeant, take this man into the jail and let 
 him see his nephew — the boy that was arrested this morning 
 for rioting on Church Street, and see that the fellow does not 
 escape. This old man is cunning and will bear watching." 
 
 Captain Evans looked as if he only lacked an opportunity to 
 make his honor take back such an imputation upon his char- 
 acter, but did not deign to make reply. 
 
 At sight of Sammy, lying on a pallet of straw, and looking 
 none the more respectable on account of the night's fracas, 
 the old man knelt down on the floor beside him and wept like 
 a child. 
 
 "' Jest to think, my boy, that your good-for-nothin' old 
 uncle war the cause of all this. Oh, Sammy, this is werry mis- 
 fortionable. Ef I had jest rebayed j^ou, poor boy, poor boy ! " 
 
 The old man's grief was genuine, and affected the boy, who 
 wept also. 
 
 " Let you and me git outen this dirty place and go home, 
 uncle. I'm tired ev the war and Xorfolk too." 
 
 " Go home ! " repeated the old man. " Go home ! Lord, 
 Sammy, I wish we mought. I've got you into a miserable 
 scrape, my boy. The senternce are that you must take your 
 place in the chain-gang, or go inter the army, one or 
 t'other." 
 
 " Then I'll go inter the army," said Sammy, without hesi- 
 tation. " Where will they send me, uncle ? " 
 
132 TOM BURTON, 
 
 "They say to Eoanoke Island." 
 
 " Well, uncle, you go home and tell mammy. Tell her to 
 pray fer me — " and he could say no more. 
 
 " Me, go home arter gittin you in this fix ? Me, go home ? 
 What would yer angel mother say, Sammy? No, siree. 
 Whar you go I'm agwine, and when I return to the Eastern 
 Shore, you will go with me. We uns will go together or not 
 at all." 
 
 Then the old man bowed his head and groaned. 
 
 " Never you mind, uncle ; don't take on so sorrowful. I 
 hates ter see an old man in trouble. I hev no doubt it's all 
 for the best. I couldn't hev kept outen the war much longer, 
 anyhow. They would soon hev rescripted me, j^ou know, and 
 then I'd had to go. But you is too old. They will not relow 
 you to foller me." 
 
 "Never mind, Sammy, I will work that ar part. Kely 
 upon it, ef you goes inter the army, I goes ; so thar, now, let 
 that matter rest. I knows Gineral Wise, and so fur am in 
 good luck, arter all." 
 
 "Well," said the officer, "how long do you intend to be 
 parlarbering there over that prisoner. I can't stand here all 
 day and wait for you to get over your blubbering." 
 
 It was a savage look the old man cast at the speaker, but, 
 turning to the boy, he mildly said : 
 
 "We uns is caged, Sammy. I suppose when we uns has 
 their hand inter the lion's mouth, we uns must git it out as 
 easy as posserble. So good-bye, my dear boy ; and you may 
 depend upon me to settle all this business according to Gun- 
 ter." 
 
 Then straightening himself up to his full height and shak- 
 ing his massive frame like an awakened giant, he remarked to 
 the officer : 
 
 " And now you dough-faced — " 
 
 Sammy raised himself from his straw and caught him by 
 the coat-tail. 
 
 " Hold on, uncle, easy licks, kill the devil. Ef you git 
 inter trouble too it'll be werry — " 
 
 " Misfortionable," finished the old man. 
 
 " Suppose you trow him a quarter, uncle. I hev one or two 
 more words to say to you afore we part." 
 
 The captain took a dollar bill from his pocket and handed 
 it to the officer. 
 
 " This pays for five minutes more." 
 
 "Hurry up, then." 
 
 "I was going to say somethin'," began Sammy — "'oh, yes. 
 How about the cunner, uncle ? " 
 
TOM BURTON, 133 
 
 "Let her rest her wear^ bones wharshe is Sammy. When 
 we uns come back we uns will find her thar. She is well 
 secure." 
 
 " And the gal, uncle ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, the gal, Sammy. You can't disremember the 
 gal, kin you, Sammy ? Well, I'll tell you all I knows about 
 the gal. She said as how she war gwine to be a Sister of 
 Charity, and I s'pecs you kin see her when you gits outten 
 here, and your face gits well. Howsomever, that is a small 
 matter." 
 
 " She war nice, uncle, and every time I thinks of her 
 sweet face, my heart comes right up into my mouth, and I 
 almost cry. Ef I mought see her once more afore I die I 
 would be satisfied, uncle," and as the boy said this he turned 
 over and hid his face. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 TEX ACRES AXD A MULE. 
 
 The once pleasant sight of Moorefield lay like a dreary 
 waste. 
 
 Two tall bare chimneys, shivering in the cold winter wind, 
 a few cinders and ashes at their base, the negro quarters and 
 the out-houses, were all that was left of the once hospitable 
 and grand old mansion. 
 
 Here the Moores had lived for many past generations, as 
 the tombs in one corner of the yard indicated ; some of them 
 dating back to the time when " Sir John Moore ye first of 
 Essex, England, departed this life ye seconde day of Octo- 
 ber, in ye yeare of Grace one thousand six hundred and fifty, 
 in ye Fortj'-fifth j-eare of his Age. 
 
 All was ruin and devastation now. A stray fowl, a lean 
 pig, a crippled dog, which looked like Uncle Daniel's, lying 
 under the thicket, warming his attenuated body in the sun- 
 shine, were about all the living things to be seen around the 
 premises. A small volume of blue smoke rising from one of 
 the hunchback chimneys of the smallest of the quarter, show- 
 ed that at least some one was sojourning there, Withiu 
 
134 TOM BURTON. 
 
 this lowly hovel was living the only human souls of all the 
 large bustling family which once inhabited Moorefield with 
 its thousands of acres ; and of all its flocks and herds not one 
 remained. Old Uncle Daniel and Susie the witch were hero 
 ensconced. The latter, in this her ninetieth year, the happy 
 bride of the new lord and master of the old manor. If ever a 
 war in all history can boast of a greater transformation, it 
 has never been the writer's privilege to read of it. But the 
 picture is as true to facts as the noonday sun is to nature. 
 
 Old Uncle Daniel and Susie the witch being left alone in 
 this wide world, determined to put their fortunes together, and 
 without parson or ceremony, declared themselves, as was the 
 fashion of their kind, man and wife, and set up at house- 
 keeping in the cottage aforesaid, subsisting on whatever came 
 in their way, and what the}^ could pick up about the camp, to 
 which they paid frequent visits. 
 
 Marrying had not improved the face of the bride, or added 
 much toward straightening the kinks out of her back, but 
 the thought of freedom and the promise of ten acres of her 
 old master's rich land and a mule, had worked wonders in her 
 powers of activity and locomotion. Superannuated for years, 
 and put off on another farm to keep the quarters and look 
 after the babies of the mothers who were in the field, this 
 old creature had not done a stroke of work for her owner for 
 a quarter of a century. 
 
 Now she was not only a bride, but could step off ten miles 
 with the best of her colored friends, and jump as high at 
 prayer-meeting as any of the brothers and sisters. 
 
 Happ3^ Susie and lucky Daniel ! Tor them the year of ju- 
 bilee had surely come, and they had at last found a home of 
 their own ! 
 
 A glance into their humble quarters failed, however, to dis- 
 cover anything to remind one of a honeymoon. 
 
 The bride was boiling hominy and baking johnny-cake be- 
 fore the fire, and the groom sitting over in the corner making 
 a mat of corn husks. There was an expression of thankful- 
 ness in the face of the old man, whether for the gift of free- 
 dom or the wife, was hard to tell ; but the interesting face of 
 the witch had really more of devilment than either joy or grat- 
 itude. As they both worked away at their respective occu- 
 pations, they occasionally indulged in conversation, but in a 
 tone more like that which is heard between folks wdio have 
 not only outlived all the mellific sweets of many moons, but 
 even ceased to celebrate the anniversary of their happy union. 
 
 ^' Fore m^ blessed Marster^ Daniel, this here am de ^ear of 
 
TOU BURTOX. 135 
 
 Jubelo sure 'nuff. Ole Missus gone, ole marster gone and nO' 
 body lef but Miss Kate, an she no better nor dead. I alius 
 told 3^ou niggers what dat ar uns 'twas comin\ You, all un 
 you, tought ole Susie was a fool, now you see. Dat's what 
 good dar is in bein a fortun'-teller, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, ole Massa he couldn't stan de loss ob his ole 'umman 
 so he take and die too. He's gone to jine her in de promise 
 Ian'. I is real sorry fer dem all. Seems so bad — '^ 
 
 " Hush up, you ole fool, Dan'l, you alius would be a con- 
 founded ole hypercrit. What you want ter pity dem white 
 folks fer ? De Lord hab come now and 'liberd us, and you set- 
 tin' here an' a pityin' dem same as ef dey was any 'count. 
 Y"ou is de biggest fool, Dan'l, I ever did see in my born 
 days." 
 
 "Now, you jest shut up, Susie. White folks am some ac- 
 count, and niggers better b'lieve it. IMany's de time ole Mas- 
 sa hab give me drink ob whisky, and Missus been kind and 
 give me flour bread. I kain't help bein' sorry ter see so much 
 'struction. Look all round dis here place and see ef you can 
 'joice in your heart ober de sight. Go back wid ole Dan'l fif- 
 teen, twenty, sixty 3'ears ago, what gloyous times we used to 
 have. Dan'l was young den, jest like ole Massa, (de j^oung 
 Massa den) and we chillun used to play wid one anudder, 
 and ole Massa 'twas den, used ter go fox liuntin' ; and den de 
 hog killin' and de sausage stuffin' and de big parties and balls 
 and de eggnog ! Now dar all gone ; and de great house itself 
 gone. Susie, ef you can 'joice over dat you is no Christian. Y"ou 
 is a heathener." 
 
 " 'Joice ! you old dish rag ; whar would you be dis very day 
 ef you wasn't free ? Out dar in dat corn field ; dat's wher 
 you'd be wid de o'erseer at your heels a slashin' ob your back. 
 Dat's what you 'lights in Dan'l. You wants ter go back in- 
 ter slavy you does. You calls yoself my husban' and talks 
 like dat. You is no husban' of mine, Daniel, ef dat's de way 
 3^ouse gwine ter do. You want ter be tied up to de cart wheel 
 and thrashed fer stealin' shoats agin. Y^es, jou does, Dan'l." 
 
 "But, Dan'l never stole chickens nor geese nuther." 
 
 "Dat doesn't signify. Ef you means me, I 'knowledge I 
 stole dem and turkeys too. Y^ou think I 'low one ole goose 
 to 'vide me and my Savior ? You is too bigoty to talk to, 
 Dan'l. When you gits jour mule and your ten acres of Ian' 
 den you 'gin to 'preciate the blessins ob freedom." 
 
 " Y'es, yes, ole Massa gone, ole Missus gone, all de chillun 
 'cept Miss Catherine, and she crazy, dey saj-, all de niggers 
 run away, and me and the old witch, lord and paromack of all 
 
136 "J^OM BFRTOX. 
 
 ole Massa's property. Seems too much ter b'lieve," went on 
 the old man, no longer paying any attention to the compli- 
 mentary remarks of Mrs. Daniel. 
 
 " Well, Dan'l, ef you wants ter be a clog, you can be one 
 that's all. Susie am a free 'umman and alius 'spects to be," 
 and she sang at the top of her squeaking voice : 
 
 For de year of Jubelo am come," 
 
 An' de niggers dey be a marchin' home." 
 
 They had been so busy talking their happy subjects of 
 H3'men, that they had not heard the hoofs of Colonel Bur- 
 ton's horse as he rode up in the yard, and, dismounting, was 
 already on the door block. 
 
 "It's Massa Colonel. Come in, Massa Burton, we's glad ter 
 see you. How is j^ou ter-day ? " was uncle Daniel's salutation, 
 as he rose and hobbled across the shanty to take the Colonel 
 by the hand. 
 
 " Oh, first-class, Daniel. How are you and your wife ? " 
 
 " Oh, we 'uns quite well. Only have a word now and den." 
 
 " Marster Colonel, what I wants ter know, is we cullud 
 folks free or no ? Dat's what I and Dan'l fuss about." 
 
 " Well, Susie, it looks ver}^ much like it. All contrabands 
 are subject to confiscation. I think I'll make contrabands of 
 you two and set 3'ou both free." 
 
 " Dar den, I done tole you so, Dan'l." 
 
 " And, Marster Burton, you'se gwine ter give us dat mule 
 and de ten acres ob ground, ain't j'ou." 
 
 " What mule ? " 
 
 " Dat mule de Yankees promis' us." 
 
 " I know nothing of any mule or ten acres of ground." 
 
 " Dar, ole 'umman, I tole 3'ou so," was Uncle Daniel's ex- 
 ultant da capo. 
 
 " Dat ole fool sets dar all day, tryin to niake me 'blieve 
 we uns not free." 
 
 "You see, Massa Colonel Burton, Susie is gittin 'long old, 
 and we has ter make 'lowances fer her. I jest tell yer, Massa 
 Burton, we niggers ain't white — neber will be. We uns 
 got to look up to de white folks same as ever. White folks' 
 powerful. Can crush us in the yearth." 
 
 " In that idea, Daniel, you are correct. Your best interest 
 will be, for j^ears to come, to keep on the best of terms with 
 your former masters. They will, no doubt, feel very bitter 
 toward you at first, but that bitterness will die out, and by 
 and by you will both be good friends. I suppose you were 
 sorry to hear of your old master's sudden death ? " 
 
TOM BUliTON. ;[37 
 
 '•' Oh, yes, Massa Burton. Poor ole massa couldn't stan 
 de loss ob all his niggers, den his house, and las' but not lees, 
 his ole 'umnian. How 'bout Miss Catherine, Massa Burton, 
 whar is her ? " 
 
 " She is at Doctor Savage's, Daniel, very low, indeed. Her 
 affliction is very great." 
 
 " Yes, Massa, dat it is, an I pities her. You mus' take 
 good care on her, Massa Burton, kase she haint got any fader 
 nor mudder now, nur cullud peojjle, nur nuffen. Will de 
 ole place hab to be sole ? " 
 " It looks so now, Daniel." 
 
 " Yes, and you too, you 'tarnal fool," put in the witch. 
 "Hush your mouf, Susie. When de white folks talk, you 
 jest take a back seat. Dey say as how her 'tended over dar 
 in Dixie is gwine mighty fas', gettin' drunk and all sich as 
 dat. I spec he'll furget Miss Catherine over dar mongst all 
 dem fine ladies. She all 'lone now, Massa Burton, and. you 
 mus' take mighty good care ob her." 
 
 "That's all right, Daniel. What I wished to see you 
 about was this : I want you to keep a close watch on *the 
 creek, and if you see anything going on, let me know. I"ll 
 see if I can't catch that sly fox of a blockader yet." 
 
 "^J? ay, Massa Colonel. Hab you got a chaw of terbacker 
 for de ole man ? " 
 
 " Yes, here is a pound I bought expressly for you." 
 " Thank God, and thank you too." 
 
 " I want you also to remain here and look out for the place, 
 the out-houses, etc., and in the spring I will see if I can pro- 
 cure you a mule, and let you go to work, and see if you can 
 make a living for yourself." 
 
 "Dar, den, I done tole you 'bout dat mule, vou ole dummy," 
 again put in the bride, as she turned her johnny-cakes. 
 
 "Meanwhile, " continued Colonel Burton, "you may con- 
 tinue to come to head-quarters for your rations, and if you 
 can't^ manage this old woman, let me know." 
 
 "Yah, yah, Massa Colonel, she is right smart hard to git 
 along wid, but she'll git more sense by and bv. When she 
 gits her mule and her ten acres ob Ian', she will be happy as a 
 clam at high water, as de say in is, yah, yah ! " 
 
 " An' go ter work again for de white folks ? Xebber." 
 "But how do you expect to live, old woman, without 
 work ? remonstrated the Colonel. 
 
 "I nebber 'spected to hab to work in de year ob Jubelo. 
 Fore my soul and body ef I 'spected to hab work den. Ef dat 
 IS de case, I think we uns better go back inter slavery agin. 
 
138 TOM BURTON. 
 
 Dat ain't no freedom. We used to could git a goose now and 
 den, and ole Daniel dar was purty goodarter shoats, but'tain't 
 nuffen to git now, not even a fryin' chicken." 
 
 " Hush, Susie, hain't you ashame to go on in dat way, 
 right afore Massa Burton. You and me orter be satisfied wid 
 what we uns got. All dis grumlin' case we hain't got de 
 yearth, is kontrar}'- to de Scripture, which saj^s : "By de 
 sweat ob de brow, dow mus' yearn dy bread. You is like the 
 boy what got de skunk in de gum and didn't know what to 
 do wid it. You'se got jowv freedom and now y©u isn't satis- 
 fied. You got your husband, an' now you'se all de time 
 agrowlin'. Ef you don't hush up I'll 'ply fer a 'vorce, 'pon my 
 soul I will." 
 
 As Colonel Burton walked out of the hut into the yard he 
 looked at the desolation around him, and felt sad at heart. 
 
 " 0, war, thy ravages are fearful to contemplate," he 
 ejaculated. "Like a pestilence thou sweepest the earth as 
 with a besom of destruction ! Where are all the busy feet 
 that used to tread these old haunts ? Where the sons and 
 daughters of past generations who gathered here on gala 
 days and reveled in social pleasures, never in any land so 
 enjoyable ? How the tables used to groan under the weight 
 of the richest viands ! And here was hospitality for all. 
 Yes, all but a Burton ! " 
 
 The teeth of the speaker, involuntarily closed with a grip, 
 did not immediately relax. He turned about suddenly, 
 mounted his horse, and rode away at a flying gallop. 
 
 It was all so. When they took the news of the loss of his 
 wife and property to Colonel Moore, he fell into a swoon from 
 which he never rallied. The freed soul took its flight from 
 the imprisoned body. 
 
 Kate was removed from the scene of the conflagration in 
 a condition as near to death's door as one could be and live. 
 She recovered consciousness, but her mind for many days was 
 wavering and flighty. She was the object of great solicitude 
 on the part of Colonel Burton, who, without asking the consent 
 of any one, made it his purpose to see that she lacked no atten- 
 tion until she was convalescent. 
 
 When Miss Kate had so far recovered as to be able to leave 
 her bed, he cut his attentions short, and only kept track of 
 his ward by calling at the gate occasionally, and making in- 
 quiries as to her health. This course was necessary as well 
 on account of himself, as Miss Moore. 
 
 Dr. Savage was a hot rebel, and the Colonel's calls, though 
 politely received, were not by any means encouraged, nor did 
 
TOM nxinfoif. lg§ 
 
 Miss Savage, nor Miss Blake, nor any of the school-girls, even 
 so much as notice the Federal officer. 
 
 The loss of his sister still prej^ed upon his mind, and left a 
 void which nothing had the power to fill. He was taciturn 
 and moody, and longed to go to the front, and get away from 
 an atmosphere which had in it all the elements of war and its 
 ravages without the mental stimulus of active service. 
 
 By the first of January, 1862, the war had begun in good 
 earnest. Men on both sides began to settle down to the con- 
 viction, that the only way to determine it was to fight it out. 
 
 Very foolishly, the Confederate Government or the States 
 had fortified isolated points along their coast line. Such a 
 system had proved very efficacious in our foriegn wars, but 
 was doomed to be, in this case, but a waste of time and sacri- 
 fice of life. Some of these who had already been taken but 
 Roanoke Island, had as yet not suffered from an attack. 
 
 General Henry A. Wise, a Virginia politician of well-known 
 ability, and an ex-governor of the State was sent to defend it. 
 What there was there to defend, God only knew. Nor what 
 to capture until the Confederates put a few thousands of troops 
 on the beach, and sent half a dozen old wooden hulks — side- 
 wheel river steamers, scarcely fit to sail over a mill-pond — 
 to be gobbled up by the Burnside expedition that was then 
 being fitted out for that very purpose. 
 
 With New Berne on the south, and Norfolk on the north, 
 both in the hands of the Federals, as they afterwards were, 
 for all Eoanoke Island was worth, to either government. Gene- 
 ral Wise might have remained at Nag's Head and in undis- 
 turbed possession of his pet stronghold, until after the sur- 
 render of Lee, at Appomattox, and neither side been aware 
 that there was any such place. 
 
 But they went on and garrisoned it, and the Federals sup- 
 posing it to be of sufficient strategetical importance to the 
 enemy for him to occupy, thought that they w^ould dislodge 
 him, if only for a little spring diversion, their main object 
 being to capture Elizabeth City, and other towns on the sound 
 and thus flank Norfolk, and thereby place the whole sea-coast 
 of North Carolina and Virginia under contribution. Such a 
 movement, if successful, would give McClellan a base for his 
 peninsula campaign of unquestionable value. 
 
 The days oi playing soldier at Norfolk were drawing to a 
 close. Becruiting officers began to be seen busily plying their 
 vocation in the streets of the twin cities. Detachments of 
 soldiers were moving daily in every direction. The hospital 
 corps were busy preparing for bloody work. 
 
140 ToM BUliTOS'. 
 
 Men's faces began to grow longer and sadder, tlie long 
 expected New Year was at hand, but instead of joy it brought 
 sorrow, and a fearful looking forward to coming days of evil. 
 
 Friends and loved ones were parting, bidding farewell, per- 
 haps forever ! Koanoke Island was the chief objective point 
 on all sides in this part of the world just at this time. 
 
 Thither was doomed to go poor vSammy. In spite of all 
 the influence of his many friends — that is, the friends of his 
 uncle, who was well known — and all the moral and political 
 forces his sorrowing and self-accusing relative could muster, 
 there was but one alternative, either the chain-gang or the 
 army. 
 
 Now, w^hile Sammy's mind did not run much after fighting, 
 especially with powder and ball, he had less regard to tliat 
 motley crew of negroes, crakers and Dismal Swamp clay- 
 eaters, one used to see dragging their clanking chains through 
 the streets of Norfolk, at once a disgrace to civilization and 
 religion. 
 
 If a necessity exists for such a mode of punishment, that 
 very fact is the best evidence that under proper laws and an 
 enlightened government no such criminal ought to be found. 
 
 Sammy chose the army first, last, and all the time, and 
 prepared himself to accept the offer and enlist. The recruit- 
 ing officer went to the jail and the matter was arranged. 
 . Captain Evans saw General Wise and engaged to supply 
 him with wild-fowl during his sojourn at Nag's Head. He 
 would then be at his liberty to visit the boy on the island 
 at will, and having the friendship of the commander-in-chief, 
 would be a sort of privileged character, to do as he chose. 
 He was a good shot, an old gunner, and as the general was an 
 epicure, the favors were equal. 
 
 The plan worked well. The distance between Nag's Head 
 and Hoanoke Island did not exceed a few miles, and a day 
 scarcely passed that the old captain was not at the camp. 
 Whenever the boy did picket duty, the old man remained on 
 post with him, and there being no danger of surprise in the 
 night, or even day, until the enemy should come into the 
 Sound, the two found it quite pleasant to sit by a fire and 
 talk over old times. 
 
 Their conversations would be chiefly of home, their trips 
 across the bay, the strange young girl they brought over, and 
 Claude. 
 
 With the latter, the old man was disgusted. He had not 
 proved, according to his estimation, the right sort of a friend. 
 He thought Claude had treated him superciliously on several 
 
TOM BUBTOX. 141 
 
 occasions, and when he was almost beside himself with grief 
 over Sammy's troubles, Claude had j^roved either inefficient 
 or disinterested. 
 
 But the fact was, Claude did not care now-a-days for any- 
 thing but Miss Buttercup and his toddy. His visits to Free- 
 mason Street were more frequent, if anything than ever. His 
 military duties were neglected entirely, and not one of the 
 officers boarding at 229 spoke with him at all. More than 
 one pernicious influence was at work on Claude. 
 
 King Alcohol had enlisted him into his service, and his 
 most trusted friend had become to be Mr. John Barleycorn. 
 These fine gentlemen had so engrossed his attention and won 
 his affections that he was no longer the patriotic Con- 
 federate soldier he formerly was. Miss Buttercup's eggnog 
 was as potent as Miss Buttercup herself, for while the lat- 
 ter's bonds began to be worn loosely, those of the great King 
 were tightening every day more and more. 
 
 His whole life seemed to have drifted into one channel, that 
 of voluptuousness. But one cannot drink at Pleasure's 
 fount forever and still be insatiate. All pleasures if over- 
 indulged will cloy, and none sooner than those which feed the 
 baser passions. But it is not a satisfying satiety which they 
 afford. They nauseate while they open up an appetite which 
 cries for evermore : Give ! give ! Claude loathed whisky, 
 but, alas, he could not refrain. 
 
 Claude was weary of Miss Buttercup, but he could not 
 stay away. How glad he would be to feel cool and comforta- 
 ble once more, with a clear head and steady hand. How re- 
 freshing would be an evening with Kate Moore, or even 
 Mary Burton, were she alive. Ah ! the wages of sin is death, 
 and the way of the transgressor is hard indeed. 
 
 If he felt ready to reform, a depraved appetite told him he 
 could not do it and live. 
 
 If he lagged in his suit at the house in Freemason Street, 
 its fair mistress was ready to upbraid him. 
 
 " I know what is the matter with you, Claude. You are 
 tired of me. You are sick at heart and want to give me up. 
 Your mind is over on the Eastern Shore. Oh, well, go back 
 to your first love. I hear she is having fine times with Yan- 
 kee officers over there. Well, I don't blame her. I would 
 do likewise. Men are not worth being constant for. Any 
 woman is a fool who ties herself to one man only." 
 
 Thus would she nag him on to a desperation which only 
 served to cause him to sin to-day that he might repent to- 
 morrow. It is in this fashion that all men go down, cursing 
 the means one day, courting it the next. 
 
142 TOM nURTOX. 
 
 Did she appear blase at one time, and did lie think of her 
 sometimes with disgust? It would not be long before in an- 
 other mood she would appear to him as an angel from 
 heaven. Was the scent of his handkerchief or gloves the 
 next morning, after an evening spent at her house, distaste- 
 ful ? He only need to remain away from her presence a single 
 night and mignonette, or heliotrope, or apple blossoms were 
 not more fragrant than tlie breeze her fan wafted. So that 
 what was one day slaying him M'as sure the next evening to 
 revive him. Now, if man were of the sort of those short- 
 lived ephemera which disport themselves in the joys of the 
 bright world for a single day, and then perish in the propa- 
 gation of their species, all this kind of thing would do very 
 w^ell, but as we survive more than one day here, and thus 
 have to provide for different circumstances, which we may en- 
 counter on the morrow, and as we are immortal beings and 
 have to prepare as well for the hereafter, it will not do to risk 
 all on the momentary pleasures of an hour. But we moralize. 
 
 Thus, with Claude following his Jack-o'-lantern life in Nor- 
 folk, Captain Evans and Sammy waiting for Burnside on Roan- 
 oke Island, Kate Moore at Dr. Savage's, on the Eastern Shore, 
 Colonel Tom Burton in the same place, looking after blockade- 
 runners and other small matters, and the bride and groom 
 quarreling their honeymoon out at Moorefield, we take the 
 present leisure to follow the little Sister as she, guided by the 
 good priest, wends her way to the hospital of St. Vincent de 
 Paul. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ST. VINCENT DE PAUL AND ST. MARy's-BY-THE-SEA. 
 
 In looking backward to the Catholic Church as the mother of 
 our present Christianity, it is not the least pleasant phase in 
 her remarkable history to contemplate the lofty, self-sacrificing 
 character of some of her eminent propagandists. Not that we 
 shall find them all perfection, or even more than human ; but 
 who can deny the fact that some of the fathers even, of me- 
 diaeval times, offer us excellent models of all that is profitable 
 and beautiful in religious life. Among these none, perhaps, 
 is more worthy of notice, or occupies a more exalted position 
 as to his virtues, or the great benevolent institutions which 
 he governed and which have so gloriously survived him, as 
 St. Vincent de Paul. 
 
TOM BURTON. 143 
 
 Beginning first at Chatillon, in France, in 1629, his ex- 
 cellent order of Sisters of Charity has multiplied itself in 
 many forms and into various names throughout the world. 
 
 The object of this order of celibate women being the care 
 of the sick and the protection of foundlings and destitute chil- 
 dren, it is the one society of nuns w^hich has met with special 
 favor in all lands and communities, and won the respect of 
 all good people wherever it has been found to exist. 
 
 At the head of Fenchurch Street, in Xorfolk, surrounded 
 by magnolias, and in the midst of well-kept grounds, stands 
 a large building of modern French architecture. It is one of 
 the chief attractions of this not very attractive city, and is 
 known as the hospital of St. Vincent de Paul. 
 
 Here, without regard to religious prejudice, or station, or ed- 
 ucation, or nationality, except that colored people are treated 
 in separate wards, the unfortunate suffering from sickness or 
 accident, may receive medical attention and careful and tender 
 bedside nursing. 
 
 Here the soft, white hand of woman, unsoiled by inter- 
 course with, or contact from, the outside world, administers 
 consolation to the afflicted; and here her gentle voice, recall- 
 ing the tones of a sainted mother, soothes the careworn and 
 sinking heart of the weary traveler who has fainted by the 
 wayside, and has journeyed to this quiet and secluded spot 
 to die; and here the patient Sister holds up to his expiring 
 view the symbols of eternal life. 
 
 Noble, self-sacrificing women ! You look odd enough to 
 us Protestants, in your ungraceful and homely attire, and 
 your demure and placid faces so void of passion, and so 
 schooled and impressiouless ; but the old world can ill do with- 
 out you yet, and if you are a relic of the past, so are sorrow, 
 and sickness, and pain, and death, and while these endure 
 you will always find a welcome in the hearts and dwellings 
 of suffering humanity! 
 
 Through the iron gate, up the stone steps to the broad 
 stoop, and into the reception-room, went the priest with the 
 little Sister. 
 
 The Sister Superior was busy in the apothecary shop, but, 
 upon being told that Father O'Farrel was come, did not keep 
 her visitors long waiting. Her face was ruddy and beaming 
 with smiles. 
 
 " Sister Matilda, I have brought jow a young girl who, 
 while she does not seem to be sick in body, is sad and weary 
 of heart. She wishes to prepare herself for the duties of the 
 sisterhood. I know of no better school than right here in the 
 
144 TOM BURTON, 
 
 hospital, and no more efficient tutor than yourself ; so I have 
 brought her to you. Here, under your wing, she can not only 
 learn the stern duties appertaining to your order, h\xt, from 
 actual experience, be able, in a short while, to decide with 
 more certainty whether her present state of mind is the re- 
 sult of mature deliberation, or a less healthy condition, the 
 result of an attack of spasmodic ennui. She is a stranger to 
 me and to Norfolk, having crossed the bay last night in an 
 open boat. I have no doubt she will commend herself to you, 
 as she seems to be a young lady of refinement, and virtuous 
 habits. She is very tired, and I suggest, after she has par- 
 taken of some refreshments, you allow her to have a comfort- 
 able and quiet room ; and, after she has slept, you will then 
 have an opportunity to become better acquainted. I there- 
 fore leave her in your kind care." 
 
 Then, after putting his hand upon the girl's head and 
 blessing her, he grasped Sister Matilda's hand and bowed 
 himself out of the room. 
 
 Sister Matilda, who was a heavy woman, past middle life, 
 with laughing brown eyes and rosy cheeks, came forward, 
 and, kissing the girl, asked her name. 
 
 " You may simply call me the Little Sister," was the de- 
 mure reply. 
 
 Without renewing the question, Sister Matilda resumed : 
 " You do look pale and weary, my child. I shall call Sister 
 Irene, and have her take you to the dormitory, where, after 
 having something to eat, you may retire and have a good rest. 
 After that I shall send for you and we can have a talk." 
 
 Sister Irene came, and the Sister Superior, once again kiss- 
 ing the girl, sent her off with the new attendant, saying, as 
 she did so, " This is the Little Sister ; I shall make you her 
 sponsor, Sister Irene. See that she is comfortable and sleeps 
 well to-night. If she should suffer from nervousness, let me 
 know. She may need an anodyne." 
 
 Both nuns wore their full dress, including their cornets, 
 and all the time Sister Matilda was speaking, the long ends of 
 hers flapped like the wings of some huge bird. 
 
 Their habits were of a sombre blue color, and each one of 
 them wore a rosary and metal crucifix suspended from a 
 girdle at the waist. 
 
 Their heads must have been close shaven, as not a vestige 
 of hair could be seen below the tightly fitting bands of their 
 white cornets. 
 
 The room to which the Little Sister was conducted was 
 comfortable, without any pretensions to luxury. A plain iron 
 
TOM BURTON, 145 
 
 bedstead with clean linen, a chiffonier, a table and two chairs, 
 besides a wash-bowl and pitcher, made up the the list of ap- 
 purtenances. The floor was of hardwood and carpetless. At 
 the head of the bed was a small table, on which a wax 
 candle and a crucifix were placed. 
 
 " This is your room. Make yourself perfectly at home," 
 said the blue-eyed sister Irene, her fair face and even teeth, 
 which showed in two magnificent rows of pearls when she 
 spoke, giving her an appearance of refinement and purity. 
 " I will now descend to the kitchen and see if I can hurry you 
 up some supper." 
 
 The Little Sister thanked her clever attendant ; but with- 
 out taking as much as a passing glance at her surroundings, 
 or w-aiting for the promised lunch, disrobed herself, and 
 throwing her exhausted little body upon the bed, was fast 
 asleep when Sister Irene returned with a cup of tea, some 
 boiled eggs and hot rolls, which she had hastily prepared. 
 Seeing that her charge was resting quietly, she did not dis- 
 turb her, but setting the viands on the table, slipped out of 
 the room and left her to recuperate her Avasted energies. 
 
 Youth readily renews itself. The overstrained physical 
 powers of the young, like a new bow, adjust themselves at 
 once when the tension has been removed. The Little Sister 
 awoke early the next morning fully restored to her normal 
 condition. She felt, at the first moment of returning ration- 
 ality, a slight depression of mind, such as we sometimes ex- 
 perience after long struggles with trials, even though we 
 have overcome them, feeling the effects of the heavy burden 
 still, although it has rolled from our weary shoulders forever 
 — a sort of vague unrestfulness, indefinite yet palpable. So 
 lingered yet on the little one's memory some hard battle of 
 the past which she felt grateful to thank God was at last be- 
 hind her. When Sister Irene came with breakfast she was 
 up and dressed. 
 
 "You are feeling much improved, Little Sister, are you 
 not ? " 
 
 '•' I am indeed. I was very tired last night, and slept like 
 a log." 
 
 '' You look much refreshed. I hope your appetite has re- 
 turned." 
 
 " Take a chair and see me devour this food, and you shall 
 have no need to hope. I am quite hungry." 
 
 While eating, the Little Sister took occasion to observe her 
 pleasant patron. She was pleased with her appearance. Sister 
 Ireiie being the exact counterpart of herself. She was a clear, 
 
146 TOM BLRTOy. 
 
 bright blonde, slight in form and delicate. She also saw that 
 Sister Irene wore a plain gold ring on the third finger of her 
 left hand. 
 
 In demeanor she was sad and reflective ; but sweet and 
 beyond any doubt lovely in her manners. For a friend, the 
 Little Sister was suited be^^ond anything that she could have 
 asked for ; and felt toward her already as a sister. 
 
 " We shall surely be good friends." 
 
 This was the unexpressed sentiment of both of them. 
 
 " Do you find it pleasant to be a Sister ? " asked the novice, 
 more to have something to talk about than anything else. 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, I will not allow myself to see it in any other 
 light. We are all happy here. What can afford more real 
 solid comfort in this world than a sense of duty well performed. 
 Worldly pleasures are not lasting. There are some flowers 
 whose odor grows more and more grateful the longer you in- 
 hale them ; while others first intoxicate, and then disgust. 
 The former are like religious enjoyments, the latter like 
 worldly pleasures." 
 
 "But does duty always fill every longing of the soul? 
 Can 3'ou always find a solace in such a life ? " 
 
 " To meet and conquer temptation we have not only to 
 perform our dut}^ so far as it refers to w^orks ; but in prayer 
 and penance we find a fullness which leaves no room for any 
 other desire but to serve and love the Saviour of man. I trust, 
 my dear Little Sister, 3'ou have already received that satisfy- 
 ing grace ? " 
 
 "I know there are pleasures for the young outside of convent 
 life, pleasures w^e are made with capacities to enjoy ; but 
 out of the excess of human happiness grows the noxious 
 plant of human woe, and when we reap we gather the tares 
 with the wheat." 
 
 "Am I to infer from your inquiries that you are regretting 
 your choice ? " 
 
 " By no means, my dear Sister. I trust I shall never re- 
 gret it more than I now do. With one so sweet as you, dear 
 Sister Irene, how could there be regrets or misgivings, I 
 know you will assist me with your best endeavors to be full 
 of faith and full of good works." 
 
 " That I shall, my dear Little Sister," replied the nun as 
 she kissed the girl passionately. 
 
 After breakfast, the Sister Superior sent for the Little 
 Sister. Sister Irene conducted her to Sister INIatilda's room. 
 
 " You are aware that according to our rules you must be a 
 novice at least five years before you can take the vows of 
 sisterhood ? " 
 
TOM BURTON. 147 
 
 " So I was informed by Father O'Farrel.'^ 
 
 ^* We require, at that time, a full surrender of all your 
 worldly goods, and a free and voluntary assumption of our 
 orders, the purport of which, I suppose you already know." 
 
 "I do.'' 
 
 " And you are determined to become one of us ? " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " I have promised Father OTarrel to take you here as a 
 novice until you shall have arrived at the end of your novi- 
 tiate. You will have to be instructed in the catechism, from 
 which you will learn the tenets of our faith, and having done 
 that, you will receive confirmation. This, with one of your 
 apparent education and discernment, will not take long, and 
 when accomplished, you may assume the duties of a Sister- 
 novitiate, under the care and guidance of your instructress. 
 Sister Irene. We shall, doubtless, soon be ver}^ busy. This 
 fearful war, so much to be regretted, will send us many 
 patients, and we may extend our oj^erations even to the 
 field of battle, where we shall need all the nurses we can get. 
 Sister Irene will take jou down to see Father O'Farrel to- 
 day, and as you are a stranger, you may spend an hour very 
 profitabl}^ in the church, examining the pictures which are 
 said to be second in reputation to none in this country, so 
 far as church decorations are concerned. 
 
 " It is needless for me to say to you that you must be very 
 discreet while away from the institution. It is imperatively 
 necessary that you be so. The Church, as well as the sister- 
 hood demands of you that you bring no reproach upon her. 
 I mention this because you are young, and the eyes of the 
 world are on us all the while ; and young people are thought- 
 less. Be faithful to your anticipated vows, and nothing can 
 harm you." 
 
 While delivering this lecture. Sister Matilda assumed the 
 air of one who was in authority and had a right to command 
 obedience ; but when she was through, her face resumed its 
 wonted cheerfulness, and the Little Sister felt that in the 
 Superior of the Hospital, she had a friend as kind and con- 
 siderate as a woman could be, and at the same time preserve 
 the dignity of her position. 
 
 The forenoon was spent in looking over the institution. Its 
 arrangements were different from what the young girl had 
 supposed that of hospitals to be. The floors of St. Vincent 
 de Paul were not laid off into wards, but into rooms similar 
 to those of a hotel, and these were furnished with suits of 
 valuable furniture, carpeted and made as comfortable as 
 
148 TOM BUBTON. 
 
 modern taste and art could make them. In the rear of the 
 main building, and connected with it by a long corridor, was 
 the chapel. Here mass was said twice a week, and the 
 mortuary services performed over those professing the Catho- 
 lic religion who died ia the hospital. Here, also, the Sisters 
 went to pray morning and evening. The hospital was not 
 crowded with patients at the time, and many of the Sisters 
 were doing service at the bedside of peojDle who were sick at 
 their homes. 
 
 In the afternoon, Sister Irene took the Little Sister down 
 town to pay a visit to Father OTarrel. 
 
 They found the good priest at home, and the little novice 
 took her first lesson in the catechism, acquitting herself very 
 creditably, pleasing both her preceptor and pastor. The call 
 was without ceremony, and the Little Sister began already to 
 feel repaid for all the dangers and trials she had experienced 
 in coming to !Xorfolk to become a Sister of Charity. 
 
 From the rectory, they went to the church. St. Mary's-by- 
 the-Sea, though not a large edifice, is superb in its proportions 
 and pleasing in its outlines. In its exterior the eye delights 
 to wander from fa9ade to roof, and from roof to spire, failing 
 to discover a single thing to mar the beuuty of symmetry which 
 pervades the entire superstructure. 
 
 Passing through the vestry-room, the two women entered 
 near St. Joseph's altar, and stood in the chancel kneeling in 
 front of the main altar. From thence, beginning on the left, 
 they proceeded to examine the paintings which represent the 
 thrilling scenes that constitute what is known as the stages 
 of the cross. These pictures, all painted by European mas- 
 ters, they saw had been presented by members of the 
 church. Under each was the name of the donor with the 
 inscription : " Pray for the soul of '^ 
 
 To the mind of the nun these paintings seemed to bring 
 only the association of the painful events they commemorated, 
 but the Little Sister, less devotional, saw in them the painter s 
 art and the poetry which burned in the painter's soul. While 
 she felt that she stood on hol}^ ground and almost in the pres- 
 ence of her suffering Lord, she could not be oblivious to the 
 consummate skill and lofty genius of the hand that executed 
 the work. The finer the masterpiece, the greater respect it 
 awakened in her for the artist, and the deeper sympathy for 
 the suffering Saviour. 
 
 " Jesus condemned to death," represented the meek and help- 
 less prisoner before Pilate's judgment seat," ''Jesus bearing 
 his cross," and " Jesus meeting his mother," were some of the 
 
TOM BXTRTOK. 149 
 
 finest. But, by far the most striking of them all, perhaps be- 
 cause possessing more the spirit of romance, was that repre- 
 senting the legend of Veronica wiping the face of the weary 
 Saviour, as he climbs the rugged hill, weary with bearing the 
 heavy beam on which his blessed body is soon to be stretched. 
 The tender touch of the womanly hand and the gracious 
 acknowledgment of a weary God, were graphically drawn, 
 and touchingly portrayed. 
 
 The painted windows, with their softly subduing effect, as 
 they admitted into the gothic vault above and through the 
 shadowy nave a faint and spiritual light, on this quiet win- 
 ter evening, was not the least impressive feature of the sur- 
 soundings. The one near the altar of the Blessed Virgin, rep- 
 resenting the visit of the wise men to Bethlehem, was espe- 
 cially admired by the novice. When the two women turned 
 from this, the last object of their admiration, the shadows of 
 coming evening, always so premature in these short days of 
 winter, were lengthening. 
 
 During their visit to the church, they had noticed here and 
 there, groups of persons, two or three in number, engaged in 
 the same pleasant pastime as themselves, with now and then 
 a solitary soldier at his devotions, or a backwoodsman wander- 
 ing through the church listlessly gazing at the strange appur- 
 tenances of a church he had only read about. As they moved 
 toward the door, intending to pass out by the front entrance, 
 there suddenly swept b}^ them a tall, handsome gentleman in 
 the dress of a captain of cavalry, and leaning on his arm in 
 a most familiar and affectionate manner, a stout young lady 
 in rich attire, her long train sweeping the carpeted aisle as 
 she passed. 
 
 The officer looked at the two women as he passed them, 
 stopped, and peered almost insultingly into the face of the 
 novice, and passed on. The Little Sister first grew red, and 
 then pale, and staggering for want of animation, sank lifeless 
 into a pew, clutching Sister Irene's arm as she went down. 
 The latter cast a glance of displeasure after the retreating 
 couple, just as the gentleman looking back, saw that the girl 
 had fainted. He immediately came back, and asked if he 
 could be of any assistance, his lady remained where she stood. 
 Sister Irene caught sight of the face of the finely dressed 
 lady, and changing color, said to the gentleman : '' Your ser- 
 vices are not required, thank you. There is no need of any 
 interference ; she has only swooned." As he did not seem 
 inclined to proceed the nun spoke with greater vehemence. 
 ^' Please, sir, go on. Your presence here, sir, when she comes 
 
loO TOM BURTON. 
 
 to, would only add confusion, and retard lier recovery. 
 I have no need of any assistance." 
 
 The lady who was waiting gave her head a toss of impa- 
 tience, and her companion, bowing to the nun, joined her, 
 offered his arm, and the two walked out of the church. Sistet 
 Irene ran to the vestry, obtained a glass of water, and return- 
 ed to find the Little Sister fully recovered. 
 
 " These rude people should not be allowed to visit such a 
 place as this," she said, handing the glass to her little friend. 
 
 " I^ever mind that, I was only frightened a little at the 
 man's curiosity. He looked at me so searchingly. It's fool- 
 ish, I know, to act in this way, but it's all over now, and we 
 will go back home." 
 
 " These people are very rude," reiterated Sister Irene. 
 
 "Do 3^ou know them ?" inquired the other. 
 
 " The lady, very well. Her companion is a vain coxcomb 
 of a man, who they say is infatuated with her. I will give 
 3^ou a history in which she figures rather conspicuously, some 
 of these days." 
 
 " Do, Sister Irene, I shall be only too glad to hear it." 
 
 The keen winter air on the street had the effect of reviv- 
 ing the novice, so that by the time thev reached the large 
 building at the end of Fenchurch Street, there was left no 
 trace of her recent indisposition save a slight palor of the 
 face, which only seemed to heighten the contrast of her dark 
 eyes and the long silken eyelashes which shaded them. As 
 Sister Irene was leaving her in her room, she kissed her over 
 and over again. 
 
 " You are so beautiful, my dear, I cannot help it," she 
 said. " I will come back by-and-by and tell you the story 
 appertaining to the lady we saw in the church to-day." 
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 A FELLOW-FEELING MAKES US WONDROUS KIND. 
 
 Nor was Sister Irene at all remiss in her attention to her 
 charge. 
 
 She went to the kitchen and prepared some tea and toast, 
 and cold fowl, and fruit, and had the satisfaction of seeing 
 the Little Sister partake of it with a hearty relish. 
 
 "If you call this penance. Sister Irene, I should like to 
 know what indulgence is," laugliingly remarked the novice. 
 " Do the Sisters all live in this fashion ? " 
 
TOM BUllTOX. 151 
 
 " No, my cliild, not always. We live comfortably, not 
 daintily. Besides, we accustom ourselves to abstemiousness. 
 We often fast you know." 
 
 " Why, then, am I so well taken care of ? " 
 
 " Because you are weak and considered on the sick list 
 yet," said Sister Irene, smiling. 
 
 '•'Heaven has blessed me in sending me such a good friend 
 and companion in' you, dear Sister Irene." 
 
 " Don't speak of it, my little one. The blessing is mutual. 
 I have often prayed for just such an associate as you. I will 
 remove these dishes, and then come again and we shall have a 
 nice talk. I shall hurry back." 
 
 '•And I shall look for you every moment until j^ou return, 
 my i^recious guardian." 
 
 " It seems to me we have knowm each other for years," 
 began Sister Irene, on her return after supper, as she took a 
 seat b}^ the bedside, her little friend having lain downi. 
 
 " Do they allow you to wear rings ? " asked the novice, 
 feeling the cold metal as her attendant laid her hand over 
 her forehead, putting back the rich clusters of her dark hair. 
 
 " Yes, we are allowed to wear what are called order rings 
 or vow rings. Mine was given me by a dear friend several 
 years ago. I wear it for his memory." 
 
 " A lover?" ventured to inquire the Little Sister. 
 
 The pale face of Sister Irene was suffused w^ith a crimson 
 glow, which set it off finely. 
 
 " Not exactly a lover. Had my little friend better try and 
 go to sleep ? " 
 
 " But you promised to tell me something about that fine 
 lady we saw to-day." 
 
 " Yes, I remember. I scarcely think I shall have time to 
 do so to-night, and you are too nervous to listen. I know the 
 lady well, and was sorry to see so fine a looking gentleman 
 with her. She is considered a great flirt' and manages to 
 keep society here in a state of continual perturbation ; al- 
 though the best people of Norfolk very generall}^ repudiate 
 her. But hadn't we better drop the subject lest we grow 
 uncharitable ? " 
 
 '' Please go on," pleaded the other, her large brown eyes 
 gazing wistfully up into the face of her attendant with an 
 earnestness which did not escape the older woman, as she 
 rose to place the wax taper behind her, the light of which 
 was falling full in the face of the reclining novice. 
 
 '• Please, Sister Irene, do not leave me yet. I know I can- 
 not go to sleep if you leave me ; and I shall be so lonesome." 
 
 " I was not going, dear.'^ 
 
152 -I'OM BUBTOy. 
 
 " Thank you. I do feel so mucli more comfortable when 
 you are with me." 
 
 " It is just as comforting for me to be with you, my dear 
 friend. Somehow or other you seem to be an old acquaint- 
 ance. There is something in your face which appeals to my 
 memory as one of whom I have dreamed, if not met, at some 
 time of life. If this is our first meeting, the coincidence is 
 one of those j^lausible instances by which the ancients at- 
 tempted to prove the immortality of the soul." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the novice, "they were right, after all, 
 and you and I have known each other in the past eternities." 
 
 "It is strange, but your voice, your eyes, your smile, come 
 home to me with such force that I am almost shocked at their 
 familiarity. You may depend, my dear Sister, I shall not 
 lose a moment to be with you." 
 
 " But Sister Irene, can't you tell me more of the person we 
 met in the church ? My mind is continually running after 
 her." 
 
 " Cease to think of her, my child. It is her victim who 
 ought to enlist our deepest sympathy." 
 
 " Her victim ? " 
 
 "Yes, my dear. She victimizes every young man who hap- 
 pens to be caught in her net. She slays without pity all who 
 come within her reach. If the ghosts of all the young men 
 she has led astray ever come back to haunt her, the Lord have 
 mercy on her soul. He was a clever-looking man, and there- 
 fore I feel for him." 
 
 " But, can he not be saved ? Is there no way to warn him of 
 his danger ? Can we not pluck him as a brand from the 
 burning ? " As the Little Sister said this, she raised herself 
 up on her elbow, her dark eyes penetrating the very soul of 
 Sister Irene. 
 
 " Can the bird be saved from the toils of the fowler ? " 
 
 "Yes, my dear; you remember the ant ? " 
 
 " True ; but to do it, we have got to reach him. It is hard 
 to convince him of his error. When once a woman of her 
 beauty and wiles has fastened upon a man, it takes extraor- 
 dinar}' force to break her hold. Though one rose from the 
 dead, he will not believe her false. jSTothing but experience, 
 the saddest but most effective of all teachers, can induce him 
 to give her up. She leadeth, and ' he goeth after her straight- 
 way, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the cor- 
 rection of the stocks ; till a dart strike through his liver ; or 
 a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not it is for his 
 life.' " 
 
TOM BURTON. I50 
 
 " But, Sister Irene, this man looks to be well Lred and sen- 
 sible. If he really knew what sort of woman she is ; if some 
 good friend should interfere — if nothing else but a word of 
 warning — I fancy he would listen." 
 
 "It is barely possible. It seems to me he could not help 
 hearing the scandal which has already been attached to his 
 name in consequence of the liaison.^'' 
 
 " Do 3'ou, then, know his name ? " 
 
 "They say it is Captain Walsingham, of the Eastern 
 Shore. He should not be without friends. His standing in 
 the army ought to protect him." 
 
 "But, my dear Sister Irene, he is a soldier, and cut off from 
 all home influence, far from loved ones, and in the midst of a 
 gay and profligate city, drugged by the war spirit, intoxicated 
 by its glamour. He is, no doubt, inexperienced with such 
 persons, and the more noble he is in his disposition, the easier 
 gulled by the temptress. Oh, my dear Sister Irene, can we 
 not save him ? We must try. It is our duty. We are but 
 indifferent followers of the Master if we cannot reach and 
 rescue those who are perishing morally, as well as those who 
 are physically afiiicted." 
 
 Sister Irene was astonished at the vigor of the novice's 
 zeal. "I have had, my dear, sympathetic child, a sad ex- 
 perience in that line alread}-, and in connection with that 
 very woman, which I will relate to you to-morrow night, and 
 then if you think there still is hope, I am with you to the 
 rescue, heart and soul. You must rest now, so I will bid you 
 good-night," and taking the Little Sister in her arms, she 
 imprinted a dozen kisses on her lips and left her to dream of 
 plans to save the young officer from his impending doom, 
 and to impatiently wait for the coming evening, when her 
 faithful sponsor would detail to her the promised revelations 
 concerning her own history and the evil deeds of the fair 
 sorceress, whose smile was danger and whose embrace was 
 death. 
 
 The next evening found the two Sisters at an early hour, 
 through with their tea, and the elder ready to begin her nar- 
 rative. She said: "Woman, my dear Little Sister, was 
 born to love. Mark me, I say woman. There are some hu- 
 man beings who pass for women who, but for their attire, 
 would never be taken for such. These belie their sex ; but 
 the world of a true woman is a universe of love. She can 
 flourish in no other atmosphere. She pines and dies where 
 there is nothing to love. Nor is it at all necessary that 
 she receive affection, for her heart is a perennial spring, not 
 a reservoir, and can give out eternally and never run dry. 
 
154. TOM buhtox. 
 
 " The Jewish estimate of her character, my dear Little 
 Sister, is false. She is not the weaker vessel, morally speak- 
 ing. Neither is she man's enemy, as represented in Jewisli 
 writings. There are temptresses — sirens as hardened and dis- 
 solute as they can he — possessing more devils than seventy 
 times seven ; but clothed in her right mind, even a Mary of 
 Magdala becomes a saint than whom no angel in heaven is 
 more honored. But to my story. 
 
 "Years ago there was, in this old town, a mercantile firm, by 
 the title of Bockover and Buttercup. The concern was a 
 wealthy one, and owned many ships doing a trading business 
 with the West Indies, and ports up the Mediterranean. My 
 father was the head of the house. Miss Buttercup's the 
 junior. The old people are all dead now, except the mother of 
 Miss Buttercup, who is still living with her queer daughter. 
 
 " Ten years ago we were all rich and happy. Alas, what 
 changes a few years bring forth ! 
 
 " In 1854 the firm broke, and with its fall, my parents un- 
 able to stand the blow, went down to the grave, and I became 
 a novice. 
 
 " I will not tire you with details. The year before the failure 
 of the business of Bockover and Buttercup, my father's at- 
 tention was called to a young man, who had made several voy- 
 ages in one of the ships, and who by promotion had risen 
 very rapidly to the position of mate, and who by the death of 
 his captain at sea, became the master of the vessel. My 
 father took great interest in him, trusted him implicitl}^, and 
 introduced him into our family. By some means or other it 
 was discovered (perhaps by the young man's own confession), 
 that prior to his employment by the house of Bockover and 
 Buttercup, his life had been irregular and intemperate. 
 Whatever might have been his past life, he appeared to be 
 thoroughly reformed, and was always particular to shun all 
 manner of temptation. He had been in our company some- 
 time and we had all begun to think a great deal of him. 
 When in port on Sunday, he always went to church with me, 
 and I never had a friend I thought so much of. In fact, mv 
 Little Sister, I soon learned to love him as a brother. One day 
 he gave me this ring." Sister Irene's voice trembled, and a 
 tear-drop stood in her eye, as she withdrew the ring from 
 her finger, and handed it to her companion, who, with her gaze 
 intent on the nun, held it in her clasped hand while the latter 
 proceeded : 
 
 " I do not think he ever realized the depth of my affection. 
 If he ever loved me he did not declare it, yet I shall always 
 
TOM BURTON. I55 
 
 believe that if our association had not been rudely broken up 
 he would finally have done so. 
 
 "There seemed to be something bearing on his mind which 
 made him sad at times, tliough what it was I never knew. 
 Miss Buttercup is older than I am and had lived a gay life 
 up to this time, and had several suitors, being considered 
 very brilliant and very fast. But a most singular circum- 
 stance attending all her alliances was that every one of her 
 beaux, after waiting on her a few months became inebriate, 
 and worthless. One after another of these j^oung men were 
 thus used up only to make room for another. Well, one day 
 when the bark on which my young friend was captain, was 
 in port, having just arrived with a cargo of fruit from the 
 West Indies, Miss Buttercup, accompanied by her father, 
 went on board and was presented to the handsome commander. 
 I was present and saw at a glance what a powerful effect her 
 great personal attractions had on him. I was not jealous, but 
 knowing her as I did, I feared for my friend as I would have 
 trembled for a brother. From that moment he seemed like 
 one transformed, as if by the wand of a magician. He did 
 not slight me, but a mania for Miss Buttercup's society seemed 
 to take entire possession of him. I saw he was infatuated, 
 and tried in the most delicate way to warn him of his danger. 
 Alas, he imagined that all my good intentions sprang from 
 self interest, and I had the mortification of seeing my efforts 
 produce just the opposite effect from what I intended. Every 
 time his vessel came in (and it seemed that some occult power 
 assisted him in his voyages, he made them so rapidly), she 
 was sure to meet him at the wharf, and taking him from his 
 duties, kept him with her until the ship was ready to sail 
 again. This did not last long before he began to show signs 
 of dissipation. 
 
 From the very best of commanders he grew to be irritable, 
 negligent, and untrustworthy. His men, who had loved and 
 respected him at first, soon deserted the ship, and, not being 
 able to keep his crew, my father discharged him. In a little 
 while Miss Buttercup dropped him ; he lost caste in society, 
 and being penniless and without friends, he joined the army 
 as a private, and I have never heard of him since.'' 
 
 "And the woman ? " 
 
 " She went on in her same old waj-. When the Prince of 
 Wales was here, last year, she went wild over him, and some 
 people said she followed him back to England. Since the 
 war began she has reaped a plentiful harvest out of the un- 
 wary officers, who, having heard of her fame^ are easily 
 caught in her toils," 
 
156 TOM BURTON. 
 
 "You did not tell me tlie name of your unfortunate 
 friend ? " 
 
 " It is in the ring." 
 
 "I have been so interested in your story I had forgotten I 
 had it." ^ ^ ' 
 
 The Little Sister held the ring up to the candle, looking 
 inside of it. She read, turned it round, then read again. The 
 ring dropped from her fingers, and she staggered into Sister 
 Irene's arms. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TIME HEALS ALL WOUXDS. 
 
 OxcE more we cross the Chesapeake. Erom the chaos of 
 rebellion, the general commanding the Eastern Shore forces 
 soon evolved a condition of order, security and confidence. 
 A provisional civil government was inaugurated, the courts 
 reopened, and those who were so disposed resumed their or- 
 dinary occupations. There was an occasional altercation be- 
 tween the soldiers and citizens, some little trouble growing 
 out of the changed relations of master and servant, but, upon 
 the whole, there was \ery little to complain of, and those who 
 took advantage of the new order of things and went to work, 
 found business of all kinds remunerative. 
 
 Colonel Moore being dead, his creditors unwisely moved a 
 settlement of his estate, and his large tract of land at Moore- 
 field, as well as other estate, was sold at public auction. Forc- 
 ing a sale at such a crisis was bad, both for creditors 
 and the deceased colonel's heirs. The former were justly 
 punished for their cupidity, and poor Miss Kate left penni- 
 less. 
 
 The elegant farm, where the family had resided for gener- 
 ations back, and which, three years before the war, would 
 have sold for twenty thousand dollars, was knocked down to 
 Colonel Burton for the paltry sum of five thousand. No 
 situation could have been more deplorable than that of the 
 luckless daughter of the once proud aristocrat. 
 
 Born in the lap of luxury ; reared in the midst of extrava- 
 gance and hospitality that knew no prudence, but in all things 
 characterized by almost a wanton prodigality ; petted from 
 girlhood, flattered by attention, and warped in the school of 
 prejudice, no one was less calculated to face a frowning worl4 
 than Kate Moore, 
 
TOM BCRTOX. 157 
 
 Stricken almost to death's door by the climax of all her 
 misfortunes — the loss of her mother under the painful circum- 
 stances heretofore related, as well as that of her father, equally 
 pitiable, if not so horrifying, now reduced to poverty, and 
 without a relative — who would take care of her ? Who could 
 undertake to supply a tithe of those comforts she would nat- 
 urally look for, and certainly miss ? At Dr. Savage's she 
 was once the most welcome guest ; the entire household felt 
 honored in her visits. The very negroes danced to see " ole 
 massa" Colonel ^Moore's coach drive up to the gate. Kow, 
 the feminine head of that family began to cast about for an 
 equivalent for the 3'oung lady's board. Instead of servants 
 to attend her every beck and call, Miss Kate, as soon as she 
 was convalescent, was left to wait on herself, and even to do 
 her own washing, make her own bed, and keep her own room 
 in order. 
 
 Miss Savage was kind enough in her indolent way, but it 
 was a kindness of such a don't-care, conservative sort, that 
 went for nothing, and passed for full value at that. 
 
 Miss Blake was brisk and practical as ever, taking matters 
 as she found them, and chiefly exercised about the collection 
 of her bills. 
 
 The old doctor, superannuated and hen-pecked, never in- 
 terfered with family matters, though the scape-goat for all 
 the ills which hard times had brought upon them. 
 
 Colonel Burton still called frequently to inquire after Miss 
 Moore's health, but seldom alighted from his horse, or saw 
 the object of his solicitations. Whether she did not desire 
 to meet him, or whether it was disagreeable lo the family for 
 her to entertain him, he did not know or seek to know. 
 
 The doctor's family was large, many of the girls of Miss 
 Blake's seminary being boarders in the house, and servants 
 in great demand. It was as much as they could do to make 
 both ends meet. Farming had been neglected the year 
 before, provisions were scarce, and very little money afloat, 
 except Confederate scrip, which was worthless. Mrs. Doctor 
 Caleb was pinched to find something to put on the table. 
 
 " I do declare, we shall all starve to death, unless you get 
 up and go out and do something," she would say to her liege 
 lord. "You sit here all day, looking into the fire, and see 
 me put to all kinds of extremities to hunt up something to 
 put on the table, without doing one solitary thing to help 
 me. I should think you might chop a little wood. And 
 now there is Kate Moore on our hands. I suppose we shall have 
 to support her as long as she lives." Of course ^Mrs, Doctor 
 Caleb didn't ever expect to die herself. 
 
158 TOM BURTON. 
 
 The worthy disciple of Esculapius was too much accus- 
 tomed to such broadsides to venture any reply to them, so he 
 simply cleared his throat, blinked under his gold spectacles, 
 and remained silent. 
 
 " If Kate was any kin to us, or had any claim on us, there 
 would be some reason in our putting ourselves to trouble for 
 her, but why that dirty, good-for-nothing Tom Burton should 
 put her off on us is more than I can account for, and, I will 
 just tell you, more I shall not put up with it." 
 
 ^' Lord, Jane, do hush, The poor girl is of good family, 
 she has been very unfortunate, and has no friends or home. 
 Don't be so hard. I really do not know what the poor child 
 will do," the old man ventured to say. 
 
 ^'Poor child, indeed ! You had better begin to pity your 
 own daughter. If this kind of thing goes on you'll have 
 something else to do than sit here by the fire and toast and 
 scratch your shins, and pity old Colonel Moore's brats." 
 
 The old doctor seized his gold-headed walking-stick and left 
 his better half indulging in her favorite pastime, unable to 
 stand the fire any longer. 
 
 The last words he caught were : 
 
 " Let \iQX friend, Colonel Burton, take care of her.'* 
 
 It was not necessary for Kate Moore to hear such tirades, 
 to be sensible of them. They left an impression on the very 
 atmosphere. The little bitter waves set in motion by a 
 shrewish tongue, rolled back to the walls, and reverberated 
 for hours and days, and while they were not appreciable to 
 the ordinary auditory organ, they did not escape the catelep- 
 tic nerves of a sensitive female. She felt she was not desired 
 now. With this thought ever uppermost in her mind, she 
 loathed the very food she eat. It was hard to bear the ill- 
 concealed cleverness of Mrs. Doctor Caleb, the stupid in- 
 difference of Miss Savage, the cold and worldly-wise ways of 
 Miss Blake, and the cruelly curious insinuations of the school- 
 girls. 
 
 She asked herself how long she was to be doomed to this 
 new torture ; and determined to leave at the first oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 But fate was still not appeased. More sacrifices were still 
 called for. The news from Dixie was gorgeous. But at last 
 sensitiveness ceased to respond to any stimulant no matter 
 how caustic. The wounds began to cicatrize. There comes 
 a time when the galled jade ceases to wince. Miss Kate 
 Moore, no longer to be called poor Kate, because of sympathy, 
 had reached that point. As stoical as the sphynx, she heard 
 
TOM BUliTOX. 159 
 
 of Claude's escapade, without feeling and without comment. 
 There was but one longing in all her heart. Like one who, 
 wheu sick, lies and thinks of all the good things he has despis- 
 ed in days of health and happiness, so Kate remembered Mary 
 Burton, and said : " If she were alive I should have a friend." 
 She had no tears. They were frozen up long ago. The 
 muscles of her face became fixed and rigid. Her hair turned 
 gray. From a full beautiful form ready to burst from its 
 confines, in the full exuberance of its maturity, she shriveled 
 up into the straight, austere outlines of a spinster, angular 
 and sapless. 
 
 Kate Moore was wrecked, but not humbled. Crushed, but 
 not ruined. Her soul had soared above earth's fiercest 
 storms, and now she asked odds of nobody. A neighbor's 
 help being gone (a widowed lady living alone) Kate volunteer- 
 ed and w^ent with her as cook ; and with her first day's work 
 came the premonition of spring-time, and the light of hope 
 into a heart whose midnight had been, not long, it is true, 
 but as black as the dwelling-place of Erebus. 
 
 Colonel Burton heard of her resolve with pain but could 
 do nothing to avert it. He was afraid to offer her any assist- 
 ance, knowing as he did her independent spirit. He enter- 
 tained the hope, however, that he might be able to see her 
 oftener now, and set about to devise in his mind some way to 
 assist her without compromising her self-respect. 
 
 " He visited his newly purchased farm, where his tenants, 
 the bride and groom, were still residing, and constituted 
 Uncle Daniel his overseer for the present, saying : 
 
 " I will allow you meat and corn-meal, give you the use of 
 a mule and an ox, and provide you with corn and fodder for 
 farming. You may have the use of this outfit for a year and 
 pay me for them at the end of the season. You and the 
 witch may now go to work for yourselves, and if you both 
 sit in the hut and do nothing, I will turn j^ou out." 
 
 The old man was very thankful for the kind favor, and 
 although Susie thought it very hard lines for free people, she 
 saw nothing more promising even though it was the year of 
 " Jubelo." She accepted the situation and kept the quarters, 
 while her husband and a hired boy went to work with a will, 
 and cultivating the richest lands about the dung-hill, soon 
 had a good prospect for a crop of Irish potatoes, green 
 peas, etc. 
 
 All winter the Federals were busy extending their lines of 
 communication down the peninsula, connecting Old Point 
 by lines of telegraph and steamboats with the Xorth, and it 
 
160 TOM BURTON. 
 
 only now remained for them to capture Norfolk, to make the 
 conquest of Eastern Virginia complete. 
 
 While passing up and down the road, which he frequentl}* 
 did. Colonel Burton never failed to pay his respects to Kate 
 Moore, seeing her oftener now, and winning her confidence 
 more and more, and making her hard lot aj^pear less onerous, 
 by the assurance that she had at least one friend upon whom 
 she could rely whenever she chose to acknowledge him as such. 
 He noticed with feelings of deep commiseration, her altered 
 looks and plain attire, and could not rest until h« had raised 
 her to a position more befitting her birth and education. 
 
 As the spring came on and the tide of war rolled further 
 and further back from the sea-coast, and the noise of booming 
 cannon became less frequent, the fields grew greener in the 
 Eastern Shore, and the people became more satisfied with 
 their lot. It is doubtful, even now, if they would have again 
 cast their lot with the Confederacy had they been allowed to 
 choose for themselves. 
 
 All the troops except the one regiment of Colonel Burton 
 had been ordered to the front, and he longed to be gone 
 also. 
 
 He was now provost-marshal, and his considerate adminis- 
 tration of affairs won for him the respect of everybody. 
 People now began to see wherein they had been wrong, and 
 felt like doing penance for all the wrong they had done him 
 and his family. 
 
 At every indication of the return of good feeling, Colonel 
 Burton's heart smote him with an irresistible feeling of re- 
 gret and sadness to think his sister was not there to hail it. 
 Poor thing, her faith had failed her just when the day was 
 breaking ! 
 
 Calling on Miss Moore one day, he said: 
 
 " I am afraid you have forgotten your promise and violated 
 your treaty. You have not used me as you agreed to." 
 
 " It is because, Colonel, I have not needed j^ou. When I 
 had friends and property to protect — those whose lives were 
 near and dear unto me — for their sakes, I was willing to treat 
 with you. But since I am left alone, I hope I may not have 
 any further demand for your services." 
 
 " I must admire your unselfishness. Miss Moore ; but I am 
 grieved to see you in such a menial position, and would, if 
 you will allow me, place you in a situation more becom- 
 ing your former station." 
 
 " Colonel Burton, I deem your proposition an honorable 
 one, prompted by a feeling as high souled as it is generous. 
 
TOM BURTON, 1(3 j^ 
 
 Things were very diiferent when we made the treaty to which 
 you have referred, as I have just said, but when the very au- 
 tonomy of one of the contracting parties is de'stroyed the 
 treaty exists no hunger. Now tliat I am so poor that there 
 are none left to do me reverence, with not a friend in tlie 
 world, I feel tliat my proud spirit will not bend to any prop- 
 osition which implies an obligation.'' 
 
 " Now, Miss Moore, that is the very reason you should ac- 
 cept friendship when it is proffered in good faith. Now you 
 but pine here, and I cannot be happy and see you drudging 
 on in such a lowly place. I need not remind you of your prom- 
 ise, that when the war ended with the subjugation of the 
 South, you would listen to me." 
 
 " Neither is the South conquered yet, sir, nor, I trust, are 
 all the brave men dead who were fighting her battles. Some 
 may be dead in memory forever as they ought to be, but I 
 trust all are not poltroons. I am sorry, sir, you referred to 
 that matter." 
 
 '' I would not wound your feelings. Miss, and far be it from 
 my purpose to recall unpleasant memories. I was only over 
 zealous in presenting my case. Now you need fresh air and 
 recreation. To-morrow, some gentlemen of the county, with 
 the ladies of their family, will give a fox-hunt. I should 
 very much delight to have you accompany lid. Can you not 
 go ? ^ You may ride my horse. You know what a fine leaper 
 Ben is. He will carry you quite safely, as he did on a former 
 occasion." 
 
 " Colonel Burton, you do not consider what you ask. It is 
 only a few months ago since I lost my parents. How could 
 I partake of pleasures so gay, in so short a time ; What 
 would people say who know me ? And in your company ? 
 They would never cease to lash me with scandal, and tliey 
 would have a right to do so. Now, let me speak candidly, 
 and tell you that the time has not yet arrived, if it ever should, 
 where you may without a great injury to my feelings, make 
 such a proposition." 
 
 Colonel Burton for once bit his lip in vexation and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 "I sincerely beg your pardon. Miss Moore, and promise 
 you that the next time I have occasion to speak with you on 
 any subject, will be of your appointment. I have tried to 
 avoid any appearance of taking advantage of you, as I swear 
 I have had no such desire. If you have so construed any of 
 my acts, you have made a mistake every time you have done so. 
 If you still look upon me as base-born, as beneath you in 
 
162 TOM BVBTOm 
 
 blood, breeding or intellect, let me, craving your forgiveness 
 for past offences, assure you that it shall never be my fault 
 again, should you suffer in future from the same cause." As 
 he said this the Colonel, with his face slightly colored, bowed 
 himself out, mounted his horse, and rode away, leaving Kate 
 Moore with her hands crossed over her lap, and with a coun- 
 tenance more sober and reflective than she had ever before 
 worn. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon ; and Kate retired to her room, 
 threw herself on her bed, and fought with contending emotions. 
 Could she ever reconcile her sense of pride with the idea of 
 an intimate friendship with Colonel Burton ? That was the 
 question. 
 
 She began to realize that she had treated badly the best 
 friend she had in the world. It was not so much a question 
 of would it pay to continue to do so, as, was it right in a moral 
 point of view ? 
 
 Certainl}^, Colonel Burton, as an individual, had done noth- 
 ing towards reducing her to her present condition. On the 
 other hand, he had from the very first endeavored to name 
 her lot as easy as possible, and had done as much as in him 
 lay to avert her misfortunes. 
 
 How long ought she to persist in treating him as she had ? 
 It was now her destitution which most of all stood in the 
 way of a complete reconciliation. Before it was her exalta- 
 tion ; now it was her debasement. Independent, she could 
 clash swords with him, and if he won, all right. Now to 
 condescend was too much like suing for terms. 
 
 With Claude now categorically removed from the field, 
 and Colonel Tom Burton rising fast in social favor and the 
 possession of worldly goods, was it not politic, at least, to re- 
 ceive him with common politeness ? 
 
 "Am I justified in my position ; have I always been right 
 or am I wrong ? If I could ever bring my mind to think 
 that my former idea in regard to matters social, religious, and 
 political was incorrect, it would not be difficult to reconsider 
 my feelings toward Colonel Burton. Until I can come to 
 such conclusion, it's no use trying.'' 
 
 Thus she argued to herself until she dropped asleep. 
 
TOM BUUTON, 1G3 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 JUST BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
 
 The first event of any consequence in the East in 1862, was 
 the battle of Roanoke Island. 
 
 The attention of the reader has been once before directed 
 to this insignificant spot. A further description of the place 
 where died one of Virginia's most gallant sons, 0. Jennings 
 "\^'ise, son of the general commanding the post, may not be 
 out of place. It lies just within the outer span of beach in 
 Croatan Sound. Its distance from other land is considerable, 
 the nearest being in a due west course to Alligator Swamp, 
 and is known to history as the spot where Sir AValter Raleigh 
 attempted to plant his first colony. 
 
 Adopting a very unwise course. General Wise began to 
 fortify this spot early in the present year. Torpedoes were 
 laid in the narrow channel which runs near the island, con- 
 necting the Currituck and Pamlico sounds. 
 
 On the island itself were constructed two forts, one near 
 the centre and the other at the north end. Eor the special 
 purpose of reducing this place and gaining access to the 
 sounds the Federals were simultaneously fitting out an ex- 
 pedition at Fortress Monroe, waiting only for the first days 
 of spring to make a descent upon the southern coast through 
 Hatteras Inlet. 
 
 It was now about the first of February — a winter month 
 to be sure, and in the Xorth usually as inclement as December, 
 but in South-East Virginia and the Carolinas, owing to the 
 near proximity of the Gulf Stream, so mild that crocuses and 
 violets are in bloom in the open air, and birds mating even 
 as early as the first of the month. 
 
 Captain Evans had been up at Xag's Head, shooting duck 
 for the old general, but now that a battle was hourly ex- 
 pected at the island, his solicitude for Sammy would not al- 
 low him to be separated from the boy any longer, so that the 
 sixth of February found him scouting with his nephew near 
 the south end of the island, from which direction the Fed- 
 erals were expected to approach. 
 
 Recent secret despatches from Fortress Monroe were to the 
 effect that the ^eat Bumside fleet^ so long in preparation^ 
 
164 TOM BURTON. 
 
 had already left the Capes of Virginia and was on its way to 
 Hatteras. It had been espied the day before off Nag's Head, 
 and was already reported as having entered the sound below, 
 and was at that very moment sailing up in the direction of 
 Koanoke. 
 
 At sunset on that day. Captain Evans sent Sammy to the 
 top of a tall pine ; and the lad had no sooner reached his ele- 
 vated perch than he reported a great number of vessels of war 
 and other craft steaming northward and stretching from side 
 to side of the Croatan. 
 
 Signaling a vidette, the old seaman sent a despatch to 
 Fort Bartow, the most southern of the forts, and then he and 
 his nephew sat down by the camp-fire to discuss the events 
 of the morrow. 
 
 " We uns shall hev werry warm work on this 'ere Ireland 
 in less nor two days, Samni}'." 
 
 "So we uns shall, uncle, and I jist b'lieve it'll come to- 
 morrer." 
 
 "Xo, boy; I kalkerlate not," replied the old sailor, slowly 
 casting his eyes around and upward toward the sky, which 
 was then ablaze with the combined light of moon and stars. 
 
 " I'm reclined to think, from the repearance of the firna- 
 ment, as well as from the bellerin' of the surf, that we shall 
 hev a storm by mornin', m which case they'll likely not give 
 us battle. Them Yankees are in the sound, howsomever, and 
 are not a goin' out 'thout pay in' their respects to we uns. 
 They'll give we uns a bresh as sure as you live, Sammy. 
 They've got some ev ther long Toms aboard ev their gun- 
 boats what'll wake up the sedge-hens bime-by." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes, when Sammy said in 
 a voice slightly husky: 
 
 " I wonder ef they knows where we uns is, uncle ? " 
 
 « Who, Sammy ?'" 
 
 "Why, mammy, and all them on the Eastern Shore." 
 
 " Never mind them, Sammy. Please don't mention them. 
 It makes me feel kinder bilious whenever I think of whar 
 we uns is, and how we uns come to be here. And then 3'er 
 angel mother, Sammy ! I tells you, boy, this here is no place 
 for any decent white man to be ef it mought be revoided. 
 But I s'pose it can't be helped, and we uns must sell our 
 lives as dearly as possible when it comes to whether they 
 shall kill us or we shall kill them. Whar we uns '11 be in a 
 few more nights arter this, God in heaven only knows." 
 
 "Well, ef we uns is got to go any way, uncle, I'd jist like 
 to go back to Norfolk once more." 
 
TOM BUBTON. 105 
 
 "What fur, Sammy ? '^ 
 
 Tlie extremity of the situation had emboldened' the youth, 
 and he replied : 
 
 " What fur, but to see that little un we fotch across the 
 bay. I think ef I could lay my eyes on her nice face once 
 more I could die right happy." 
 
 "This is no time, Sammy, terhev your mind runnin' arter 
 gals." 
 
 "Do you remagine she ar thar yet, uncle ? " 
 "Who, Sammy?" 
 
 "Why, that gal, uncle. That un you told me had gone 
 with the Sistern at the horsepital." 
 
 Sammy began tc» be provoked at the old man's stupidity. 
 
 " Well, thar is no recasion fer your gittin' out o' humor 
 
 and snappin' off my head. Ef it'll do you any good ter 
 
 know it, I do b'lieve she ar thar. But, Sammy, that ar gal 
 
 are too highfalutin' fer j'ou." 
 
 Sammy sat in his usual attitude, gazing into the camp- 
 fire ; and to the last remark of his uncle made no reply. 
 It was a glorious night, warm, pleasant, quiet. 
 The cohonk of the wild goose out in the sound, the crank- 
 ing of the long-legged crane as he flapped to his roost in the 
 tall pines, the chatter of the migrating brant, as flock after 
 flock they flew over the island, bound on their northward 
 journey, and the lonesome bugle notes of the distant loon 
 were all the sounds that disturbed the stillness of the night, 
 save the dull moaning of the sullen surf along the outer 
 beach. 
 
 Around the camp-fire as it flared up or sank into flameless 
 embers, where the two sad Eastern Shoremen sat, grim shad- 
 ows flitted in and out among the spectral trees like ghosts of 
 Indians gliding back from their lonely graves, to revisit the 
 scenes of their old hunting ground. 
 
 At last, the old man broke the silence. 
 " This here ireland war haunted in old times. It are the 
 identikal place whar Columbus landed, Sammy, or some ev 
 them people who diskivered this country." 
 "Sure 'nuff, uncle?" 
 
 " Fact, truth, Sammy ; and it war on this same ireland that 
 the fust white chile war born inter this Amerikay. Her 
 name war Wirginny Dare, and they say as how when her 
 grandfather went away to England arter more provisions and 
 left the colony here, and when he cum back again they was 
 all gone somewhar towards the Croatan, nobody never 
 knewed whar, Arter that, howsoinever, it Wc^r allpwed thf^t 
 
166 TOM BURTON. 
 
 thar war a milk-white doe on this here Ireland, what used to 
 be seen coursin' up and down this beach mongst the other 
 deer whenever they had their hunts ; but although many 
 who war considered fust rate shots had a crack at her, nobody 
 could fotch that milk-white doe down. 
 
 Thar war an ole Injun a livin' here on this here Ireland 
 at that time — a very nice sort of a heathen — who 'lowed ef 
 some hunter would take and mould a silwer bullet and shoot 
 at that milk-white doe with that, they could hit her. 
 
 So arter a while one of them rich fellers what used to live 
 here, got a silver ball and put it inter his gun, and the next 
 time they all went a huntin', this rich plantationisher sot 
 himself by the path whar the deer war to pass, and when the 
 flock kum by, sure 'nuff, thar she war, that milk-white doe. 
 Then the man ups and blazes away and down kums the 
 milk-white doe. Then he runs to cut her throat, and when he 
 stoops down with his knife, a glitterin' In his hand, he looks 
 and sees that the face ev that milk-white doe war the face ev 
 that child, Wirginny Dare ; and remediately that man turns 
 pale and falls down dead." 
 
 Sammy shuddered. 
 
 " And they say as how that milk-white doe courses up and 
 down this here Ireland yit, and that man what shot her, walks 
 about here lookin' fer her yit." 
 
 Sammy shrugged his shoulders, cast his eyes around him, 
 and said In a voice lower and hoarser than usual : 
 
 " Hush, uncle, it's too solemcholly here In this place to tell 
 sich yarns. Let's think about something else." 
 
 " Yes, I 'low, Sammy, this here is rather a supernat'ral look- 
 in' place anyhow, and It mought be that we uns' ghosts 
 mought be a walkin' round here In less nor two days. It's 
 not all so still and quiet lookin' for nothin'. It's gwine ter 
 be hot work about here 'fore long, Sammy, mark what I say." 
 
 " Ef you thinks anything like onto that, uncle, wouldn't It 
 be the properest thing fer we uns to be makin' some plans to 
 rescape, should we 'uns be kotch into a tight place ? " 
 
 " Which are all very thotf ul ev a boy ev your age and un 
 derstandin', Sammy; and so I hev already. You know that 
 small gut what makes up on the eastern side ev the Ireland 
 back ev the fort, 'bout half-ways from this end ev the Ireland 
 to t'other ? " 
 
 "Yes, uncle, I 'members It. In course I does." 
 
 " Well, I'se got a cunner hid in the rushes up that gut thar, 
 and In case times gits too warm, we uns will try and find 
 thfVt ar punuer^ and when we uns once gits over onto that ar 
 
TOM BURTOm 167 
 
 beach over tliar that milk-white doe couldn't kotch us. You 
 see, Samm}-, as I war the one to cause all this here trouble, 
 it is werry meet and proper that I make way ev rescape fer we 
 uns. On that ar beach we uns can soon travel to Norfolk, 
 you see." 
 
 At mention of the name of that old city, Sammy's face 
 brightened up with a glow of real joy. 
 
 " I does so want ter git back once more to that old town. 
 This here is no healthy place fer we uns noway, uncle. 
 These bogs is full ev ager and fever, and ef we uns stays 
 about here much longer, we 'uns '11 die anyway whether we 
 uns is shot or no," and from a smile of pleasure, the boy's 
 face was elongated to an expression of supreme wisdom. 
 
 " I'm reclined ter think, Sammy, thar are somethin' about 
 here wus than ager and fevers by the way them ar skyrockets 
 is a flyin' about down yonder in the sound, a frightenin' all 
 these nice wild fowls away." The old man stood up and 
 looked southward. " I see the lights ev them ar gun boats 
 a gleamin' over the water like sarpents' eyes. It war a werry 
 misfortionable thing fer we uns to git kotch in this awkward 
 predikament, and all my own fault, too, Sammy. Ef I hadn't 
 a gone into them ar varieties that night — well, ef we uns 
 ever gits outten this here scrape, we uns '11 be werry lucky 
 that's sartin. Pile on some ev them pine knots, Sammy, it's 
 gitten kinder cold as the night revances. Them ar wild geese 
 out thar in the sound are a keepin' on a h — ev a noise, I 
 s'pose they is a thinkin' ev goin' away soon, and are a bidden 
 us farewell," and the old man yawned as if he was getting 
 weary. 
 
 Sammy did as he was bidden, and the old man spread out 
 his blanket on the ground and threw himself down upon it 
 with a groan, and was soon snoring like a giant. Not so 
 the boy ; with his knees in his arms, he sat squatted on a 
 log of wood, the picture of grim despair. No doubt he was 
 thinking of that other time he kept guard by the bay shore, 
 when the Little Sister slept by his watch-fire. Poor boy ! he 
 never appreciated his position in life, except when he thought 
 of her. Nor would he then permit such a stern and unwel- 
 come fact to disturb his dream, or demolish the castles which 
 his crude imagination was forever building of the thing 
 which never could come to pass. No matter, they gave him 
 comfort, and like many of our own building, were all the more 
 enchanting because of their improbabilities. The face of the 
 girl was ever present with him. Her voice was in every sound, 
 her features depicted on every object. Like an ever-present 
 
168 TOM BURTON. 
 
 fairy, she gamboled in all his dreams, the central figure in all 
 his crude fancies, and to-morrow or the next day, whenever 
 he should go into battle, her name would be the sign by 
 which he would conquer, or the last to linger on his dying 
 lips. Poor boy! lie sat there brooding over these things, 
 while the old man slept and snored, while the solemn surf 
 surging up and down the coast moaned like a disconsolate 
 lioness bereft of her whelps, and the slow weary hours of the 
 night passed away, and the dawn drew nigh, and the moon, 
 already sunk behind the sound, no longer made spectral 
 figures of the scraggy cedars which stood around — sat there 
 nodding over the smouldering coals not altogether heedless of 
 the coming morrow, when ten thousand muskets would be 
 pointed at his devoted head, until the voice of his uncle 
 called him from his cramped position, his long gray coat al- 
 ready soaked with the rain that was falling fast, and the 
 leaden clouds quick flying overhead, presaging a wet and 
 gloomy day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 When the dull morning had dawned sufficiently for the 
 two scouts to see objects well at a distance, there appeared in 
 the sound, to the southward, a terrible but magnificent sight. 
 
 Prom side to side of the broad Sound spread an unbroken 
 line of advancing vessels. Thirtj'-five gun-boats led the van, 
 followed by more than that number of transports. 
 
 Captain Evans shrugged his shoulders and,changinghis 
 morning quid from jaw to jaw, turned toward his wet and 
 chilly-looking nephew and remarked : 
 
 "We uns here on this ireland are no more nor a muskeeter to 
 them uns what is a comin'. We'll be just nowhar by 
 night, Sammy." 
 
 '' Are you skeered, uncle ? " 
 
 "Gineral Jackson, and Pocahontas! Samm3\ Do 3'ou 
 mean to cast reflections upon your old uncle's bravery. Ef 
 you insinerate such a thing, I'll knock you off your pins in a 
 minute." And the tobacco-juice streamed down the corners 
 of the old man's mouth in rivers. 
 
 Sammy was grieved. " I did not mean to 'sinerate on you, 
 uncle. You only misunderstood me. I knows you is as brave 
 
TOM BUB TON, 169 
 
 as a lion. I only meant to ask ef you thought them Yankees 
 was gwine to squelch us people here on the Ireland. 
 
 "That's jest what I was a sayin' a moment ago," replied 
 the old man, very much mollified by the humble manner of 
 his relative. "But as fer fear, Sammy, that remotion never 
 entered this breast," and the chest of the old sailor sounded 
 hollow with the self-inflicted blow. 
 
 A vidette rode up. 
 
 " Well ; how is times at t'other end, horseman ? " 
 
 " We're going to stand our ground, old man. How many 
 do you make out in yon fleet ? " 
 
 " Do yer mean men or wessels, sir ? " 
 
 " Vessels, of course. I didn't suppose you could count the 
 men." 
 
 " Thar are nigh onto a hundred, sir. How many men hev 
 we on the Ireland ? " 
 
 "About fifteen hundred, more or less. We are expecting 
 reinforcements from Nag's Head ; but we can lick them fel- 
 lows coming yonder with what we have here now. One good 
 Southerner is good for at least five Yankees." 
 
 " Thar are at least ten thousand men in that ar fleet, sir." 
 
 " Well, my good fellow, that's only a little over six to one. 
 That's nothing. We have ten big guns at Fort Bartow, and 
 as many as fourteen at the other batteries ; so let 'em 
 come, we are ready for them." 
 
 "Yes, and you may bet your sweet life they are a comin', 
 sergeant ; so you kin get to rights jest as early as you kin, 
 with your six men." 
 
 "Then I'll bid you good-morning, old gentleman, and ride 
 back as fast as possible, and report to Captain Wise. He is 
 in charge of the outposts. We shall have something to do 
 before we meet again, I guess." 
 
 "And I don't guess anything about it, sergeant, I knows 
 it ; and if I hain't a right smart mistaken, you'll hev a pretty 
 tough wrastle with your six men 'ginst that fleet. A man 
 what has traveled, Sammy, knows more 'en one what hasn't," 
 and the old man shook the wet from his tarpaulin hat and 
 took another look at the advancing squadrons. 
 
 Ere he had taken his eyes from that direction, there curled 
 out, from the bow of the gunboat in the centre of the line, a 
 volume of gray smoke, from the midst of which, like the fiery 
 tongue of a serpent, there leaped forth a quick, sharp flash, 
 and almost instantly, as if tearing the damp morning air into 
 shreds, a shell went shrieking and plunging over the heads 
 of the old man and the boy, bursting in the midst of the isl- 
 
170 TOM BURTON. 
 
 and with an explosion that \vaked the brakes and bogs from 
 their quiet repose, sent the cranes cranking from their 
 roosts, and frightening the wild-fowl in the sound; its echo 
 careering and reverberating from shore to shore, until it 
 died away with a sort of guttural warning, far up the distant 
 Albemarle. 
 
 Sammy dropped upon the ground like a frightened pullet 
 at the shadow of a passing bird. 
 
 " I tell 3'ou what, that's a right smart squealer, Sammy, and 
 ef that ar had a hit we uns, it would a sent us to the sweet by- 
 and-by, my boy," remarked the old man, dryly. Then, ob- 
 serving the boy lying on the ground, pale and trembling, he 
 resumed : 
 
 " I pities you, my boy, most 'cause you would not hev been 
 here, but fer me. May God forgive me ef we uns gits hurt 
 this day," then pausing a moment, he went on talking. 
 " But it's no use a mindin' it. We uns is in it, and must 
 take the conserquences. So, let's git we uns' breakfast afore 
 them fellers comes too nigh to make cookin' and eatin' com- 
 fortable. Them taters you put into the fire last night ought 
 to be done by this time." Saying which, the two huddled 
 round the remains of their smoldering camp-fire, now nearly 
 extinguished by the steadily falling rain, and scratching 
 among the coals, raked out several j^ams, of which the old 
 man partook heartily, but Sammy refused to touch a mouth- 
 ful. 
 
 " My stomach is rather weak this mornin', uncle." 
 
 "I'm werry sorry, my son, but you had a better stuff your- 
 self with these here taters. You'll be hungry afore you gits 
 a chance at em agin." 
 
 Meanwhile, the fleet was looming up in regular order with 
 the intention of engaging the rebel fleet, and by the time 
 Captain Evans had finished his breakfast, the naval action 
 had begun, and the smoke of battle was hanging dismally o'er 
 sound and shore. 
 
 The little fleet of Confederate gun-boats, seven in number, 
 gradually fell back before the heavier metal and superior force 
 of the attacking party as the Federal line advanced until their 
 gun-boats had come within range of the guns of Fort Bartow, 
 when that stronghold added its thurider to the already deaf- 
 ening roar of artillery. 
 
 From that time forth the fight became general, the Fed- 
 erals dividing their attention between the fleet of the enemy 
 and their batteries on shore, and the Confederates pouring 
 in their usually effective fire from shore and sound. 
 
ToM ntTRTON, ±ti 
 
 Captain Evans and Sammy remaining at the south end of 
 the island, stood out of danger, eager spectators of the stir- 
 ring scene. 
 
 " The time will come for we uns ter take a hand when 
 them fellows makes up ther minds ter land. We'll kinder 
 loiter about here whilst they trow their bombs and things 
 around loose. I tell you what, Sammy, it are a magnifer- 
 cent sight to behold." 
 
 From early in the morning until late into the night the 
 bombardment went on ; but as the day closed it was quite 
 evident that the advantage gained was on the side of the 
 Federals. The latter had suffered some, but the little navy of 
 the Confederates was badly shattered. One of their gun- 
 boats was sunk and several others disabled, so that when the 
 darkness set in the remaining vessels w^ithdrew and steamed 
 away up the Albemarle Sound to Pasquotank river, and pro- 
 ceeded to Elizabeth City. 
 
 Already the ammunition at Fort Bartow was exhausted, 
 and the Federals had only to turn their attention to the land 
 forces with the coming of another da}^ 
 
 To our two friends thus far, the fighting had only been an 
 interesting spectacle. A few random shots had been thrown 
 over their heads into the thick swamp beyond. Other than 
 this they had occupied a place of almost entire safety. But 
 they had seen enough to try the courage of the stoutest 
 heart. 
 
 Their ears had become somewhat familiarized with the 
 tumult of battle. They had all day long traced the fiery trail 
 of reeking shell, their flying fragments attended by terrific 
 explosions, as they tore into the sides of the reeling gun- 
 boats, they had seen the falling spars, and the red fire-fiend 
 climbing up the rigging of tlie vessels ; the struggling sea- 
 men clinging to the floating debris, and been thrilled by the 
 defiant shouts of the enraged combatants, and the outcry of 
 the wounded ; but all this had little in it to brace them up 
 for the hand-to-hand conflict which must inevitably take place 
 on the next day. 
 
 Sad and silent they sat that night by their disguised camp- 
 fire, which they had builded further back in the woods. They 
 ate little and conversed less ; the old man sitting with his 
 broad jaws clinched like a vise upon his quid, and the boy in 
 hopeless expectation, finding no consolation in the stern and 
 altered mood of his uncle, with his wet blanket about his 
 shoulders, shivering by his side. 
 
 As the night wore away, the latter, yielding to the depress 
 
172 f0MBURT02^. 
 
 sion of mind under whlcli he was laboring, lay down and 
 slept in his wet clothing ; but Captain Evans still sat there, 
 sometimes silent and at other times murmuring to himself. 
 
 " This is werry misfortionable. I wouldn't care a picayune 
 fur this ole superannuated carcass ef it warn't fer the boy. 
 He's too young and tender fer this business, and to-morrow — " 
 Then the old fellow would shake his head and cover his face 
 with his broad and rugged hands. Then, as if awakened 
 from a dream, he would suddenly exclaim : 
 
 " I'll eat my head ef I don't believe his angel mother are a 
 hoverin' round us this werry minute. I wonder ef she will 
 ever see her boy agin ? " 
 
 A while after midnight he waked the boy and started up 
 the island. AVhen near the centre he found that all was 
 business and excitement there. The forces of the batteries 
 had combined, and behind a broad morass, which lay at 
 the distance of a few rods in the rear of Fort Bartow, they 
 had thrown up a masked redoubt, in the midst of a thick 
 growth of scrub cedars and cypress, flanked on either wing 
 by the soft, oozy swamp of the glade. Here they intended to 
 make a last and final stand, and by throwing out pickets in 
 front, lead the enemy into the morass and within the reach 
 of their ambuscade. 
 
 All night long of the Tth, they worked like beavers, ar- 
 ranging and completing their works and forming their pick- 
 et line. 
 
 When Captain Evans and the boy reached the neighbor- 
 hood of the redoubt at about two o'clock in the morning, they 
 were met by Captain Wise and appointed to duty on the ex- 
 treme left, as pickets in the swamp, with orders to fire and 
 retreat. Their respective positions were within calling dis- 
 tance of each other. As they filed off to their places in the 
 darkness, the old man cast a wistful gaze after the boy, and 
 turning his back to hide his emotion, said, " Ef times get too 
 hot fer you, my boy, hover in towards me, and don't git out- 
 ten the way, and don't forgit the cunner. She lies in the gut 
 over thar. Don't forgit the cunner." 
 
 The sun had scarcely cleared the beach, before the expedi- 
 tion under cover of the gun-boats began to land, first assault- 
 ing the deserted fort and then advancing into the morass. 
 
 Beckoning well upon the character of the ground, each 
 soldier had been furnished with a piece of board which, serv- 
 ing as a portable pontoon, enabled them to advance with 
 facility toward the position occupied by the Confederates. 
 A brisk picket fire began j and as the Federals advanced 
 
TOM BUUTON. I73 
 
 they flanked the old man and the boy, cutting them off from 
 their friends, and coming in between them and tlie redoubt. 
 In attempting to close up toward the right they came in 
 contact with the right wing of the Federal line, as the 
 straggling soldiers with their planks were struggling through 
 the swamp. 
 
 ^ Sammy being on the right of his uncle was the first to 
 discover their position, and picking out his man, opened fire. 
 His aim was accurate, and the Yankee reeled over into the 
 mud with a splash. 
 
 The report, which called Captain Evans to the side of his 
 nephew, brought also half a dozen Federals to the spot, and 
 the contest was to be decided between two on one side and 
 six on the other. 
 
 " YouVe waked up the hornets, Sammy, and we must 
 look out fer 'em, my boy. They is a swarmin' fer us." 
 
 This was all the old man had time to say. But there was 
 no need of encouraging words. The youth seemed suddenly 
 to have developed into the full stature of a veteran. Even be- 
 fore his less active companion could get ready for action, by 
 securing a position to get in an effective shot, Sammy, with 
 his repeating rifle had stretched out three of his assailants, 
 badly wounded or dead. By this time others of the attack- 
 ing party hearing the firing, began to swarm in that direc- 
 tion, and the position of our two friends became extremely 
 perilous. 
 
 "^ Hadn't we uns better drap back ? " hinted the old man, 
 excitedly. 
 
 But Sammy seemed deaf. The old man's suggestion was 
 not heard or fell unheeded upon his ear. As fast as a man 
 approached he was sure to be shot down. But still they came. 
 The balls whistled by the heads of the two beleagured pick- 
 ets as thick as hail, chipping off the twigs, and spattering 
 their faces with the soft mud of the morass, as they fell at 
 their feet, from the random firing of the advancing column. 
 
 The old man was not long idle. Fixing himself behind a 
 large cypress, and urging Sammy to take the same precau- 
 tion, he loaded and tired with almost as much celerity and 
 execution as his nephew. The first six men w^ere all disposed 
 of/ but six, ay, twice six had come to their rescue, only to 
 meet a like fate, when, exasperated to frenzy, the reinforced 
 enemy made up their minds that the only way to dislodge 
 their two foes, was to order a charge and route them at the 
 point of the bayonet. 
 
 Six soldiers leaped to the unequal contest. 
 
174 TOM BURTOX. 
 
 The old man fired two shots and as many men fell to the 
 ground. Sammy's piece missed fire. 
 
 The remaining four rushed on over the quaggy ground, 
 leaping from tussock to tussock, fearless and desperate. And 
 now a crisis, such as the old man and the lad had never before 
 encountered, was at hand. 
 
 " This is a rather misfortionable predickament, Sammy. 
 Hadn't we better surrender ? '^ 
 
 " Stand your ground, uncle," was all the boy said, as he 
 readjusted his rifle, and beginning afresh, brought one of 
 the charging party to his knees. 
 
 Nothing daunted, the remaining three dashed on, and in 
 a moment were lunging at Sammy, whose barricade was 
 standing a little in advance of that of his uncle. 
 
 In attempting to shun the thrust of one, the poor boy en- 
 countered the bayonet of the other on the opposite side of the 
 tree. It struck him in the right side, piercing him between 
 the ribs. As he sank to the ground, he turned a piteous, im- 
 ploring look at the old man. 
 
 With a cry and a leap like that of a wild beast, the old 
 fellow sprang forward, and turning the butt end of his rifle, 
 struck down two of the men, one after the other, and snatch- 
 ing the musket from the side of the prostrate lad, drove it 
 with a lunge into the last of the three men, who was stuck in 
 the mud, and raising the wounded boy in his brawny arms, 
 ran with him with all his might to the right and rear. 
 
 Fifty bullets sped after him, but he seemed to bear a 
 charmed life. Leaping from hammock to hammock, and 
 knowing his ground perfectly, it was no trouble for him to 
 distance his pursuers. In fact they had no desire to rush 
 after him, as they knew not what dangers lay in front, or 
 how many such men and boys as they had already en- 
 countered were peopling the w^oods beyond. The warm blood 
 of the youth trickled down over the hand of the old man. 
 
 " My God ! he is bleeding to death ! This is misfortionable, 
 but it will never do." Seeing that he was out of immediate 
 danger, he laid down his pale burden, and tearing his own 
 shirt into bands, bound up the ugly wound as well as he could, 
 and re-shouldering him, went on. It seemed to Captain Evans 
 that all the energies of his whole lifetime had come back to 
 him to serve him in this trying emergency. 
 
 Behind him the battle was now raging with demoniacal 
 fury. He heard, but heeded not, the shouts of the assailants. 
 The moaning of the wounded boy goaded him on. " And 
 jist to think it war all my own fault/" he would ejaculate as 
 he ran. 
 
TOM BURTON. 175 
 
 He readied the canoe, panting like an ox in summer time, 
 and drenched with perspiration, mire and blood. Down in 
 the bottom, on some leaves and dried grass, he laid the boy, 
 and putting his shoulder to the end of the boat, slid her down 
 into the gut, and jumping in, seized an oar and shoved for 
 the strait. By this time tlie firing at the redoubt liad ceased, 
 only the desultory report of a rifle now and then could be 
 heard, but flying wildly in every direction ran the routed 
 rebels. 
 
 Standing up on the stern seat, so as to make good use of 
 the strong south wind which was blowing, he sailed up the 
 Currituck. When he had phaced a sufiicient distance be- 
 tween himself and the island, he turned round to take one 
 more last look at the ill-fated place. Shaking his clenched 
 fist in that direction, he exclaimed: ^Tight on, now, yer 
 miserable brutes. Never will Revel Evans or any of his 
 kith and kin raise another arm in sich a slauterin' business." 
 Then going to the boy, who seemed to be asleep, he knelt 
 down by him and kissed him over and over again, weeping 
 as he did so. " Like onto a drum with his throat cut, lyin' 
 in the bottom of the cunner. Oh, this is werry misfortion- 
 able. My poor boy ! my poor boy ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 THE RETREAT. 
 
 Wholly indifferent as to the result of the battle, and think- 
 ing only of the bleeding boy who had fought so bravely. 
 Captain Evans sped on his northward course up the Curri- 
 tuck. 
 
 Had the boy not been hurt, it was his intention to land on 
 the beach and walk up, crossing Princess Ann County to ^ 
 Norfolk. As it was, he thouglit he would reach the canal if 
 possible, and following that, go on by water to the place of 
 destination, if his wounded boy could hold out so long. Day 
 was yet young ; and although the distance to the farther end 
 of the sound was long, yet the old sailor hoped to reach land 
 by night. 
 
 With an extra oar and his overcoat, he improvised a mast 
 and sail, and standing himself in the stern, the narrow craft 
 shot through the water like an arrow. He had lost his hat 
 in the battle, and his bald head and gray locks were exposed 
 
176 TOM BURTON. 
 
 to the scuds of rain which the south-west wind was constantly 
 sending up behind. But little cared he for this. Sorrow 
 and remorse filled his heart with a terrible anguish. " All 
 my own fault ; all my own fault," he continually muttered. 
 "I swear, here in the j^resence of that poor boy and God Al- 
 mighty, that while I live I will never touch another drop of 
 liquor. And jist to remagine that that precious blood has 
 got to be spilt fer niggers ! Ef Jeff Davis war only here, or 
 any other instigator ev this infernal war, I'd settle his hash 
 fer him in less nor a minnit. Ef I only had my boy back 
 safe and well as he was two hours ago, their old Southern 
 Confederacy might go to blazes for what I care." 
 
 Sammy groaned and opened his ej^es. His tongue was 
 cleaving to the roof of his mouth. He could only articulate : 
 
 " Water, uncle, water." 
 
 ^^ That 3^ou shall, my baby," tenderly responded the old 
 man, dropping his oar, and striding to the bow of the canoe 
 he drew out from under the forward seat a jug of water, a 
 bottle of whisky, and some roasted potatoes. 
 
 " This are not werry fresh, my boy, but it is the best I 
 have. Bending down on his knees, he raised Sammy, resting 
 his head on his arm, proffering at the same time a gourd full 
 of the stale fluid which had been a week ago tolerable water. 
 
 The boy clutched the gourd nervously, and emptied it 
 without taking it from his head. 
 
 "Will you have some of the whisky, my boy ; not that I 
 want ter tempt yer to drink, but only by the way of medi- 
 cine." 
 
 But Sammy shook his head with a faint smile and whis- 
 pered, " Mother," as a tear glistened in his eye. 
 
 " God forgive me," groaned his uncle, throwing the bottle 
 into the sound. 
 
 Then, brushing the tear away, the boy continued ; 
 
 " But I shall never see her again," and saying this, the 
 wounded lad sank into a stupor from which the old man's 
 groaning aroused him after several minutes. Opening his 
 eyes he asked : 
 
 " Where are we, uncle ? Are the Yankees arter us, and is 
 you hit too ? " 
 
 "No, my baby. I wish I war." 
 
 "Then why do you cry, uncle." 
 
 " To see you hurt, and to think I war the cause ev it all." 
 
 " But, uncle, please don't think ev that any more. You is 
 a good, kind uncle to me, and alius treated me good. Don't 
 
TOM BUETON. 177 
 
 cry uncle, I'm not sufferin' much. We uns has had many a 
 grand time together." 
 
 The old man cried more and more. 
 
 " Lay me down easy, uncle ; my right side is stiff and 
 sore." 
 
 " I know it am, honey. Let me fix it up fer you better." 
 
 So saying, he threw oft his coat and vest, and cutting out the 
 lining of the latter with his pocket-knife, made a soft pad of 
 it, and cutting away the boy's clothing, washed the clotted 
 blood off the wound — an awful gash — from which the red 
 life stream was still oozing. He dipped the pad in the water 
 and bound it over the wound, closing it as best he could, 
 tying the bandage tight. 
 
 Then making a place for him nearer the bow of the boat, 
 he took him up tenderly in his arms, and removed him 
 where the sun, should he shine out, would not fall on his face. 
 
 The old man's little nursing was duly appreciated by 
 nature, w^hich responded to his efforts by sending the sufferer 
 to dream-land almost immediately. The canoe needed the 
 trailing oar, and Captain Evans was soon at his post again. 
 The wind was yet fresh, and the boat fairly flew on her way ; 
 but not rapidly enough for her distressed captain. In the 
 examination of the wound, he had sagacity sufficient to per- 
 ceive that it was a ghastly one, and needed the best medical 
 attention and careful nursing or the boy would perish. He 
 was calculating the time it would take him to reach the 
 shore, where he might obtain temporary assistance, which 
 he was making up his mind would be early in the evening, 
 when suddenly the wind and rain both ceased, the clouds 
 passed seaward, and the sun burst forth in meridian splen- 
 dor. 
 
 Never was fair weather more unwelcome. 
 
 " This is worry misfortionable," groaned the old man as 
 he sat down on the seat and rubbed his head with his rough 
 palm. It grew hot. The water in the jug became tepid in 
 temperature. The boy awoke fairly choking with thirst. 
 The old man arose and redoubled his efforts, trying to make up 
 for wind in the vigorous strokes of the oar which he put over 
 the stern-post of the boat, and propelled her onward as only 
 a Chesapeaker can. He had yet a long way to go. Far off 
 in the distance ahead, the shadowy outlines of the cypress 
 trees at the head of the sound appeared to stand on the sur- 
 face of the now gloomy water. Still the old man sculled 
 away, rocking the dugout like a cradle, as he swayed his 
 brawny bod^ to and fro, the bead-like drops of perspiration 
 
178 TOM BURTON, 
 
 rolling from his head and face like water. Keither the boom- 
 ing of guns, now far behind, nor the heartless sight of miles 
 of water between him and the shore, caused him for a moment 
 to relax his energies. 
 
 The sun blazed hotter, and the air became more stifling; 
 but steadily onward he toiled, his swaying body vibrating 
 with the regularity of a pendulum. 
 
 The boy became restless. He began to grow delirious. 
 His wild and incoherent mutterings only nerved the bare 
 and hairy arms which held the pliant oar, with new power as 
 they fell on the old man's ear with excruciating painful- 
 ness. 
 
 Hours passed by ; still the swish, swish, swish, swish of 
 the sculling went on. The sun began to decline, and was 
 finallv obscured by a dark blueish cloud which hung over the 
 placid sound in the far-away west. A storm was brewing, 
 and the low growling of distant thunder was heard ; but it 
 broke not the spell of the old man's exertions. 
 
 All this time the boy was getting worse. The quieting 
 effects of the shock were giving way to the first onslaught 
 of fever. 
 
 Daylight shut in prematurelj'. Eastward, over the beach, 
 the sky was serene ; but in the opposite direction, a cloud, 
 such as rises hastily in this latitude after the heat of a sultry 
 day in springtime, was rapidly rising. They were too far 
 from shore to reach it in time to avert the storm. A louder 
 peal of thunder rolled over the lonely voyagers, dj'ing away 
 in the purple east. It roused the boy from his feverish 
 dream, to a recumbent position. He gazed wildly around, 
 then tried to stagger to his feet. 
 
 "They are comin', uncle. Don't you hear the guns ?" A 
 hectic flush was burning on his cheek, and his eyes had an 
 anxious, eager look in them. 
 
 " Get behind me, uncle, quick. The}'- will kill you ! they 
 will kill you ! " he screamed, with all his might. Then, 
 unable to rise, he fell back, crying: 
 
 " Oh, my i^oor mother, I shall never see her again. Take 
 me to the Sisters, uncle ; I would see the little un ag'in 
 afore I die." 
 
 The old man could stand this no longer. He thought the 
 boy was dying, and running to him, he caught him in his 
 arms, and j^ressed his hot head to his breast. A bright 
 flash of lightning revealed the pinched features of the lad, 
 as he gazed up into his uncle's face, in a §ort of daze4 
 manner. 
 
TOM BUBTON, 179 
 
 " What can I do for you, my boy, what can I do ? " 
 
 "Nothing, uncle ; leave me, and save yourself. They are 
 coming, uncle, they are coming." 
 
 The storm was, if the Yankees were not, and it struck the 
 boat with the force of a tornado, almost engulfing the frail 
 bark and its luckless crew in a flood of spray. The rain 
 poured down in torrents. The brackish waves broke over 
 the canoe from stem to stern. The roaring wind put to 
 silence the voice of the thunder. To save the boat and at- 
 tempt to take care of the boy, was too much for one person. 
 Fertile in resources in times of danger like this, the old man 
 determined to do what made his very heart bleed while he 
 did it. 
 
 Seizing the painter, he unraveled the twists of the rope, 
 and bound the lad hand and foot ; then covering him as best 
 he could with the overcoat, went back to his post. 
 
 Fortunately, the wind blew squarely from behind, but 
 with the force of a hurricane. The lightning flashed ; the 
 tempest howled; but through the gloom the little boat, 
 guided by the master-hand of her commander, drove north- 
 ward before the gale, curling the white foam from her sharp 
 bow, and careering on the crest of the newly awakened waves, 
 like a thing of life. All around was impenetrable darkness, 
 save w^here the red lightning flashing seemed to set the 
 sound on fire. The boy groaned, and muttered, and shrieked 
 in his delirium. The crimsoned water in the boat slashed 
 from side to side, and soaked his prostrate body through and 
 through. 
 
 Sweet blessing in disguise ! The rain had helped the 
 boy, and restored the old man to his equilibrium. It tarried 
 not long, but soon spent its fury, passing over toward the 
 beach, and losing itself in the ocean. The moon rose cheery 
 from behind its retreating outlines ; the stars came out ; the 
 water no longer lashed the sides of the canoe, w^hich, toward 
 morning, quietly glided into a placid nook, under and among 
 the tall cypresses, as the gray strata of coming dawn gleamed 
 through t^he forest vista, and the old man sank down in the 
 stern of the boat. "When the sun arose, it found them both 
 sleeping. 
 
180 TOM BURTON, 
 
 PART V. 
 
 CHAPTER XXiy. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT SECRET OUT. 
 
 The Federal fleet sailed up the Albemarle Sound, after re- 
 ducing Roanoke Island, whence the Confederate gun-boats 
 had repaired the night before, sunk them in the Pasquotank, 
 and captured Elizabeth City. Erom this point their land 
 forces began to march upon Norfolk. Henceforth the city- 
 by-the-sea was doomed. 
 
 The battle of Roanoke Island took place on the 8th of 
 Eebruary. By that time another plan was being devised to 
 attack the aforesaid city by land and water from Eortresa 
 Monroe. There was but one source of hope for the twin 
 cities, and but one great difficulty to be overcome by the 
 Federals, and that was the " Merrimack." All possible dis- 
 patch was now being made to finish this wonderful vessel, 
 which was to be at once a boon and a terror. Alas, for 
 Norfolk ! The sound of revelry had ceased within her borders. 
 The days of her glory were departing, and nothing but eager 
 preparation, and a fearful looking for of impending evil was 
 apparent. 
 
 Menaced from sea and land, threatened from all sides, no 
 one could predict what a day would bring forth. Having in 
 view the temper of Claude Walsingham, when he left the 
 Eastern Shore only a few months previously, one would natu- 
 rally expect to find him all alert for the coming struggle, active 
 in preparations for defence, eager for the fray. Surely there 
 was enough to engage the services of the most inert, not to 
 mention such enthusiastic partisans as he appeared to be at 
 the breaking out of the war. 
 
 The fact is, he had done little or no service since his ar- 
 rival in Norfolk. Once, in company with other members of 
 the staff, he had visited Sewall's Point, on a visit of inspec- 
 tion, he had on one or two occasions been bearer of dispatches to 
 Crany Island, and the entrenched camp. All the rest of his 
 time he had given to Miss Buttercup. But, strange to say, 
 while love adds vigor to any good cause, and women glory in 
 
TOM BirUToy^. 181 
 
 martial achievements, exciting to industry in times of j^eace 
 and valor in times of war, stimulating one's estimate of virtue, 
 and strengthening all honorable intentions, that liaison of his 
 with the sorceress of Freemason Street had only the effect to 
 emasculate, enervate and debase, and that which ought to 
 sweeten toil, deepen patriotism and beget endurance had proved 
 in his case a demoralizer of every attribute of manhood, crushed 
 out every noble impulse and made of a once chivalrous young 
 man, a regular Sardanapalus. 
 
 To find out a man's character, we have no better guide than 
 tlie old and often proved method of investigating the qualities 
 and habits of those with whom he associates. We not only 
 take physical diseases from our companions, but their moral 
 ailments also; for moral ideas are as catching as the itch, and 
 we can no more expose ourselves to the pernicious atmos- 
 phere which surrounds and emanates from a human soul, than 
 share the same bed with an infected human being, and not 
 become contaminated. 
 
 Was Claude's patriotism growing cold ? Yes. So was 
 that of Miss Buttercup. She was intelligent — very, and saw 
 farther ahead than other men and women, no doubt, because 
 she was more selfish and mercenary. Times were getting 
 hard in Norfolk, money scarce, or if plenty, of little value. 
 Claude's exchequer was in a bankrupt condition, and his sal- 
 ary hypothecated for several months in advance. His liberal- 
 ity had caused him to neglect his person, and his clothing was 
 beginning to be threadbare. 
 
 If Miss Buttercup was fast, she was not a fool. The signs 
 of the times were not propitious for those who believe in the 
 doctrine of making friends of the mammon of ungodliness, 
 that when others fail they may be received into everlasting 
 habitations. She thought, in the sporting language of her 
 own day, with which she was well acquainted, it began to be 
 time to " hedge." AYith Norfolk full of handsome Federal 
 officers, with their pockets full of greenbacks, and she in bad 
 odor with them on account of political affiliations with the 
 Confederacy, would never do. 
 
 Claude was pretty well used up, so also to her astute mind 
 was the Confederacy. It was as easy forlier to part with one 
 as the other. She was, in truth, so far a Christian, that she 
 was ready to be every thing to any body, so she might save 
 herself. If she had been queen during the days of rebellion, 
 she determined to be empress under the new regime when it 
 was ushered in. 
 
 *^ Claude," she said, " I want you to do me a favor." 
 
182 TOM BURTOn. 
 
 " Well," he replied, " you know, Queenie, you have only to 
 speak and I am at your service. What is it I can do for you ? " 
 
 " I want you to find out for me at once when the " Virginia" 
 (they called the "Merrimac" by that name), will be launclied." 
 
 " By my soul, Queenie, you have a large curiosity. What 
 on earth do you wish to know that for ? " 
 
 "Oh, only a woman's fancy." 
 
 " Suppose when I make inquiry they should suspect me of 
 having sinister motives, Queenie ? It might get me into a 
 peck of trouble." 
 
 "Is it possible that Captain Claude Walsingham, the high- 
 toned and honorable officer from the Eastern Shore, has so 
 far lost caste, as to be even suspicioned of having treacherous 
 motives ? It is thus I am rewarded for all the sacrifice I 
 have made for you, that you can refuse a request so simple. 
 Upon my word, Claude Walsingham, you grow shorter every 
 day, in more senses than one." 
 
 Claude winced, and that was all. Samson was shorn of 
 his locks, and it only required that his eyes be burned out, 
 and he was ready to be hitched up to grind corn in the mill. 
 
 "Now, Queenie," he retorted in a leering, swaggering 
 manner, "'please let up a little, won't 3^ou ? Don't you think 
 you are a little hard on a fellow ? You are too previous, 
 ni}'- dear. I did not refuse you ; I only hinted at the advisa- 
 bility of the thing." 
 
 " For you to question the propriety of granting a request 
 of mine is too cruel for anything. You are a mean, ungrate- 
 ful wretch, Claude Walsingham, and I wish I had never seen 
 you. I might have had plenty of rich and generous friends. 
 General Vincent, Major Reet, Major Griswool, and lots of 
 others, if I hadn't thrown myself away on you. Oh you hate- 
 ful thing!" and she turned away and walked to the window, 
 weeping hysterically. 
 
 "Please, Queenie, do not take on so about nothing. You 
 don't know how badly it hurts me to see you act in this man- 
 ner. There, now, don't j^ou know I will do anything for you ? 
 Come, don't let us quarrel. Get your wine and let us drink 
 friends." 
 
 She pushed him from her indignantly. 
 
 In a moment the blood mounted to his temples, and a 
 flash of the old fire shot forth from his swollen eyes. Miss 
 Buttercup saw it and softened. She changed her tactics. 
 Going up to him, she put her plump, round arms about his 
 neck and kissed him on his indignant mouth. 
 
 " There, now, Claudie, I am sorry. I did not mean to treat 
 you badly." 
 
TOM BURTON. 183 
 
 " But you are very scornful." 
 
 ^^ Pardon me, Claudie, it's oi\\y a woman's freak. I will 
 not do so again. Come, let us drink friends. But you will 
 tell me, won't you, Claudie ? Here is some very old peach 
 brandy, sent me by a friend in Princess Ann. He writes me 
 it is fifty years old, and as mellow as a June apple. Don't be 
 afraid of it, Claudie, it won't hurt you. Take a good drink 
 and then go over to the navy yard, and find out for me 
 when the "Virginia" will be read}^, won't you, Claudie ? Yes, 
 I know you will, darling ; and come right back and tell me. 
 There, that'll make you feel better ; and when you get back — 
 well — you shall have another, and a — and a kiss, dear 
 Claudie." 
 
 In an hour Claude was back again, but just able to walk 
 alone. Miss Buttercup met him at the hall door. He tried 
 to kiss her, but she put him off, her face betraying more dis- 
 gust than she would have allowed, if Claude had not been too 
 drunk to perceive it. 
 
 " Come into the parlor, ninny. Well, you've got back, I 
 see. Did you find out anything ? " 
 
 Claude was sulky. 
 
 " Are you deaf ? What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " You — hie — called — hie — me a — hie — ninny," 
 
 " No, you misunderstood me." 
 
 " What — hie — did you call — hie — me, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, Claude. Now, you are ready to quarrel 
 again. Come, tell me what you know." 
 
 " You — hie — won't let me — hie — kiss j^ou." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will. Here, kiss me all you like ; only, tell 
 me if 3''ou found out anything, and don't keep me in suspense 
 all day." 
 
 " Fetch me another — hie — swallow — hie — of that old peach 
 — hie — Queenie — hie — and I will." 
 
 " Sure ? " 
 
 " Yes — hie — sure." 
 
 "Now, don't take so much; you have enough already. 
 Now, Claudie, you'll go to sleep presently and forget it. Why, 
 look at you ! you are nodding already." She shook him by 
 the shoulders. 
 
 "What — hie — do you — hie — want, Queenie ? " 
 
 " I want you to tell me when the " Virginia " will be 
 launched." 
 
 " Well — hie — Queenie, — hie — pour me out — hie — another 
 glass of the brandy." 
 
 "Not a drop more until you tell me what I want." 
 
184 TOM BURTON. 
 
 ^'Well — hie — Queenie, — what do you — hie — want to 
 know?" 
 
 " Fool, dunce, tell me when the " Virginia '' will be launch- 
 ed, or I'll smash you. Do you hear ? " 
 
 Claude leered up at his Queenie. She was standing in a 
 threatening attitude, a position known to the colored gentry 
 as " squared off." He measured her up and down ; tried, in 
 his dazed condition, to read her intentions, tried to reflect as 
 to his ability to defend himself, and, coming to the conclusion 
 that discretion was the better part of valor, he said : 
 
 You're — hie — crazy to — hie — get mad about— hie— nothing. 
 I meant — hie — to tell you — hie — all the — hie — time. She 
 will — hie — she — will — hie — " 
 
 " Speak it out, or I'll " 
 
 ^^Yes, I will — hie — if you will — hie — give me time. On 
 —hie— the 8th— hie— of— hie— " 
 
 ^' Of ]\rarch ? " 
 
 a Yes." 
 
 " Now, you drunken fool, you may go to sleep, and never 
 wake, for what I care." 
 
 In five minutes Claude was snoring on the sofa, and Miss 
 Buttercup inditing the following note : 
 
 To Gexeral Johx E. Wool, 
 
 Commanding Fortress Monroe. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I beg to inform j'ou that the ironclad " Virginia " 
 will be completed and launched by the 8th prox. If Mr. 
 Ericsson's vessel can be ready by that time, all may be well ; 
 if n(jt, look out for trouble^ as she is said to be a very formid- 
 able craft. 
 
 The Confederates are very much depressed over the loss of 
 Eoanoake Island and Elizabeth City. 
 
 The same colored man will take this who took my other 
 note. You will see that he is attended to and sent across the 
 James at Newport News, so he can return to Norfolk. 
 I have the honor to be, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 Martha. 
 
 Touching a silver bell, she called a servant. 
 
 " Tell Uncle Jim to come up." 
 
 The order was obeyed, and a ragged-looking negro, dressed 
 as an oysterman, doffing his hat and bowing, soon made his 
 appearance at the door. 
 
TOM BURTON. 185 
 
 " Are you ready, Jim ? '' 
 
 " Yes, marin." 
 
 " You understand where you are to go ? '' 
 
 *^ Your sarvent, marm," 
 
 *^To Fortress Monroe.'^ 
 
 " Ef I live, marm." 
 
 "How do you go this time ? " 
 
 " Down de river, marm, arter night, in a cunner.'' 
 
 "That's right. Now, take this letter to General Wool, all 
 safe and sound, and you'll he well fixed when you get your 
 freedom, which won't be long. Good-bye.'^ 
 
 " Your sarvent, marm." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A CASE OF KIDNAPPING. 
 
 Whether it was the name in the ring or no, which had so 
 affected the Little Sister, her sympathetic companion did not 
 take time to inquire, but laying her on the bed, proceeded to 
 restore her to consciousness, which did not require much 
 time or attention, the former recovering almost instantly 
 after being put in a horizontal position. 
 
 Her strange behavior was charged to loss of animation, 
 due to a weak state of nervous prostration, and nothing 
 further was thought of it by the faithful attendant. 
 
 The novice proved to be an apt scholar, and very soon 
 mastered the catechism, and learned to say all the Hail jMar3-s, 
 count the beads, and go through the many forms required by 
 the church of her adoption, with as much ease and grace as 
 if she had been brought up in that faith. 
 
 Sister Irene was instant in season and out of season, a 
 constant companion, and a most agreeable one. Only a little 
 older than the other, herself educated and of good family, 
 the companionship was such as only two of a like mind 
 and manners were mutually capable of forming. 
 
 Sister Irene had so lately been an inhabitant of the gay 
 outside world, that she had not yet worn out its impressions 
 or been able entirely to forget its ways, or overcome its in- 
 fluences. In other words, the issues of life had not all been 
 turned into the channel of religious thought. 
 
 Now and then in spite of herself, would burst forth an un- 
 controllable, natural sentiment, more colored and forceable 
 from having been restrained. These little ebullitions were 
 
186 TO:S[ BITBTON. 
 
 I 
 
 diversions for the younger Sister, and brought her companion 
 more on a level with her, making her appear all the more 
 natural and lovable. 
 
 The Little Sister employed much of her time in reading 
 the books furnished her b}'- the good priest of St. Mary's, 
 but was permitted to attend the sick and do other duties in- 
 cumbent upon the Sisters of the institution. 
 
 As a nurse, it was soon found that she was a decided suc- 
 cess, and a great favorite witli the inmates. AVherever she 
 went it was as if a bright light was shed abroad by her sweet 
 presence ; for she carried a light, but affectionate heart into 
 the sick chamber, and joy and hope were her hand-maidens. 
 
 " Send me the Little Sister, please, she is so sweet." " Where 
 is that little lady who sat up with me last night ? " "I want 
 her." *'Please do let her come again," were expressions heard 
 every day in the sick-rooms of the hospitaL She was ever 
 busy, but the great burden of her soul seemed to be to save 
 from ruin the victim of Miss Buttercup. The story of Sister 
 Irene had awakened a deeper interest in his fate, and if 
 possible, a stronger desire to rescue him. If she had known 
 how rapidly that young man was circling to his destiny as a 
 moth around a candle, how he had been taken up drunk on 
 the street, tried by a court-martial and cashiered, she would 
 have been even more alarmed for his safety than she was. 
 But such things had actually occurred, and although Claude 
 was at first repentant, and refrained from drink a day or two, 
 shutting himself up in his room, and giving himself up to 
 reflections of the most unpleasant sort ; yet God's spirit does 
 not always strive with man, and Claude's repentance had 
 come too late. He had got far enough on the road to refor- 
 mation, however, to accuse himself of more than one serious 
 fault, and when comparing Miss Buttercup's qualities with 
 those of Kate Moore, had really been dumbfounded at his 
 own folly. The weight was too heav}^ for him to carry. His 
 nerves grew weak and shaky ; his throat and tongue dry as 
 powder ; his thirst, furious. He could not sleep. He lost 
 his appetite. He wanted nothing so much as whisky, and 
 whisky he must have or die. 
 
 He rushed from his room like a madman, with clenched 
 fists and glaring eyes, and in less than an hour was again in 
 the gutter. 
 
 The two nuns at St. Vincent de Paul had not lost sight of 
 the object of their solicitude. They soon learned of his dis- 
 grace, and as it had to come, saw, beyond his fall, a ray of 
 hope and a means of escape. They had written him warning 
 
TOM BURTON. 187 
 
 letters, they had InJuced gentlemen friends to warn him of 
 his perils ; but all their efforts had been unavailing. Still, 
 they knew no such word as despair, and were constantly ap- 
 prised of his whereabouts through the services of a negro 
 man whom they hired to look after him. 
 
 Fortune not only favors the brave, but God helps those 
 who are trying to do good. 
 
 What they had failed to accomplish by the aid of all their 
 best laid plans, was brought about by an accident. 
 
 As their hired man was returning from market on the 
 day of Claude's last fiasco, he came upon that unfortunate 
 gentleman as he lay on the street, his face upturned to the 
 spring sky, and his clothing in a condition not very respect- 
 able for persons in good society. 
 
 _ The negro recognizing him at once waked him up, as- 
 sisted him to his feet, and taking his arm determined to 
 escort him to the hospitah 
 
 " Dis is no good place for you, Mas' Captain. So you jes' 
 come long, wid me. You is in a bad fix." 
 
 "Yes — hie — hold on to me you black scoundrel, and — hie — 
 take me to my room." 
 
 '' Oh yes, Mas' Captain I'll take yer to yer room. You 
 jes' hold fast ter me." 
 
 "By You're a liar, you are taking me — hie — away 
 
 from home. I— hie— live at— hie— 229 Main— hie— Street." 
 "' That's all right, Mas' Captain, we'll take you dar bime- 
 by. Tain't no use ter kick nor scratch. I'se 'gwine ter take 
 your whar you'll be 'tended to ; so 3-ou jes' mought as well 
 walk along like a proper gemman. I'se not a 'gwine ter 
 hurt ye at all, and when you comes to yo'self right good, you 
 w^ll tank me mightily fer dis favor. Sister Irene done tole 
 me look out fer you, and I'se' gwine ter do it now I'se got a 
 good chance." 
 
 Finding all resistance useless, Claude, cursing and raving, 
 was dragged along, the negro trying to calm him by soft 
 and easy words. By the time they had reached the gate of the 
 big house at the end of Fenchurch Street, Claude was pretty 
 well fagged out. His clothing was torn, his hair disheveled, 
 his limbs sore and bruised by his resistance to the efforts of 
 the strong negro, and altogether he was a used-up individ- 
 ual, completely subdued and as tractable in the hands of his 
 kidnapper as an invalid. 
 
 " Now you knows you is a sick man, Mas' Captain, and de 
 hospital is de place for sick folks. De ladies in dar will take 
 good care on you, and when you gits out you'll feel like ^ 
 bran now brass pin, dat jom will, Mas' Captain/ 
 
188 TOM BURTON. 
 
 "Yes, I am very sick. Hold on a minute. I — hie — want to 
 throw up." 
 
 " Dat's right, Mas' Captain, get clear ob as much of dat as 
 you can afore you gits whar de ladies am. Hab you got 
 trou ? All right, come, along trou dis gate. I will take you 
 inter de 'ception room, and once dem ladies gets you safe in 
 der .clutches you is in Hebben. 
 
 "For mercy's sake, John, why have you brought that 
 drunken man here ? " inquired Sister Matilda, holding up her 
 hands in holy horror. 
 
 " He no drunk. Miss 'Tilda, he's as sicker man as ever 
 you seed. Got de cholora I b'lieve." 
 
 " Holy Mary, deliver us," exclaimed Sister Matilda. 
 
 Sister Irene entered, followed by the Little Sister. 
 
 " See, Ma'am, he can't hold his head up, he is so sick." 
 
 " But his breath, John ! " 
 
 " Oh, 3'es, ma'am, his breff smells like brandy 'cause dey give 
 him dat fer de stomach-ache." 
 
 " Who gave him brandy ? " 
 
 " His friens, ma'am his f riens." 
 
 " Who are his friends, John, and why did they not come 
 with him ? " 
 
 John looked a little puzzled. Sister Irene looked at him 
 knowingly. 
 
 " I does not know who dey is. I can't be 'spected ter 
 know ever^^body, Miss 'Tilda. Dey say, ' take dis gemman 
 to de hospital. Tell em we'll be 'long dat way ter-night. 
 Dat's all John knows, Miss, 'cepts dat I fetched him." 
 
 " I do not know what to do about this. Is Father OTarrel 
 in the hospital ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think he is," replied the Little Sister." 
 
 " Tell him to step here, please." 
 
 The priest soon put in his appearance. 
 
 " Father, this man has been sent here by some one. I can- 
 not find out who, what shall I do with him ? " 
 
 The priest looked at Claude compassionately and replied : 
 
 " He looks like an officer and appears to be quite ill. 
 You had better send him to a room, his friends will prob- 
 ably be along presently. Should they not arrive, however, 
 and he need the services of a physician, you may order the 
 hospital surgeon ; this is my advice," and so saying, the 
 priest, who was going out, bade the Sisters good-b^-e, and 
 walked from the room and down the stone steps, while John 
 with the help of the two gleeful sisters hustled their prisoner 
 off to a room on the third floor, and put him to bed, But 
 
TOM BURTON, 189 
 
 surprises like misfortunes are twin-born. It was not many 
 minutes before the Little Sister was summoned to the hall. 
 Leaving Sister Irene in charge of the weary Claude she 
 hastened down stairs. An ambulance had driven up to the 
 gate. Staggering under the weight of a tall, limp, red- 
 headed lad whose trowsers and coat were stiff with blood, an 
 old man whose face wore an expression of the deepest dis- 
 tress, clambered up the long stone steps and entered the 
 hospital. 
 
 There was a settee in the hall and upon that the old man 
 carefully rested his apparently lifeless burden; and stagger- 
 ing to a chair himself as if completely overcome, he said : 
 
 '^ Ladies, this is werry misfortionable. Thar is my poor 
 boy. Save him ef you kin. We uns is from E-oanoke Isl- 
 and, and w^e uns is werry tired." 
 
 There were several of the Sisters present, and they gath- 
 ered round the old man to hear his tale of w^oe. 
 
 In a moment the Little Sister recognized the pair as Cap- 
 tain Evans and Sammy. 
 
 " I know those people, they are my friends," she exclaimed, 
 to Sister Matilda. Then turning to Captain Evans : 
 
 " My dear old friend, do pray tell me what has happened ? " 
 
 " Stabbed, my little un, stabbed with a Yankee bagonet 
 at Roanoke Island. He sed as how he wanted to see you 
 afore he died, and I have fotched him all the way — mostly on 
 my back. T'ware all my own fault. Poor boy," and then 
 the old man's feelings overcame him. Sister Matilda was 
 kneeling by the side of the settee. 
 
 " Go see ef he are yit alive," said the Captain to the Little 
 Sister. " Ef he isn't altogether gone he will rewive ef he knows 
 you is nigh unto him." 
 
 The Little Sister crossed over to the place were the boy was 
 lying, just as the old man had laid him, and Sister Matilda 
 was holding his cold purple hand. 
 
 She pressed her hand to his brow. The touch seemed to 
 arouse him, and he partially raised his e^^elids. 
 
 " Do you know me, Sammy ? " 
 
 The Little Sister was shocked at his emaciated appearance, 
 as he raised his dull, heavy eyes, looking at the high ceiling, 
 then up and down the long bare hall at the Sisters in their 
 snow white cornets, with their anxious little faces peering 
 out from under them, at his uncle on the other side of the 
 room, and finally rested his wandering gaze upon the inter- 
 rogator. 
 
 "Po you know me, dear Sammy ? " 
 
190 TOM BURTON. 
 
 A faint smile, a nod of the head in the affirmative, and he 
 closed his eyes with a deep groan. 
 
 They thought he was dying. 
 
 "Brandy, please, quick," whispered the Sister Superior to 
 the Little Sister, who was back with a spoon and glass in a 
 minute. 
 
 " Is it dilated ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Sister Matilda touched the parched lips, and forced a drop 
 or two between the almost set teeth. 
 
 " He is most gone," she whispered to the Little Sister. 
 
 " Oh, the poor, good boy, he was so kind to me. Can we 
 not save him ? " said the latter. 
 
 "Alas ! I fear it is too late." 
 
 " Let me sit down there, please Sister Matilda. He recog- 
 nizes me." 
 
 "Certainl}^, dear. Take his hand. Feel how cold it is.'^ 
 
 The cold clammy touch made the Little Sister shudder. 
 
 " You know me, Sammy, don't you ? " 
 
 This time there came the whispered response : 
 
 "Yes. 
 
 Then after a little while. 
 
 " Are we in Heaven ? " 
 
 " Why, Sammy ? " 
 
 " I thought I saw the angels standing around ; and I felt 
 so good fer ter see you." 
 
 " And I'm glad to see you, but sorry you are so badly 
 hurt." 
 
 " We uns has had a bad time, but we uns has got here at 
 last," and the Little Sister felt the grasp of his cold hand 
 tighten on her own. Then he coughed and seemed to be 
 strangling, his breathing being all the time short and diffi- 
 cult. It was a long time before he again showed signs of 
 knowing anything. 
 
 " Had we better remove him ? " asked the Little Sister of 
 Sister Matilda. 
 
 " No, my child. But Captain Evans ought to be taken 
 care of. He is looking very pale." 
 
 But the old man would not stir. 
 
 They gave the bo}^ more brandy, and again he seemed to 
 revive. 
 
 The Little Sister was standing by him. He motioned her 
 to sit down by his side. She did so. 
 
 He fumbled about for her hand. He whispered^ " Tell 
 
Tom nuRTOx. 191 
 
 The old man was called. 
 
 " We uns has found her, uncle. She ar sittiu' right here 
 by my side. We'll go now, uncle. The cunner are most here. 
 It'll soon be high water, and we'll cross the bay and see 
 mother. Git in the cunner, sweet little un, git in, uncle ; 
 shove her off — shove her off — good-bye — " and with one of 
 his hands in the broad palm of the old man, and the other in 
 that of the girl, the boy passed over the bay. 
 
 That day Norfolk reaped the first fruits of her darling 
 cause. Happily for her, she saw but little of that rich harvest 
 the South gathered in during the next three years which 
 followed. That day hyacinths and crocuses were blooming in 
 the grounds of St. Vincent de Paul. The pouting strawberry 
 would soon be blushing in the fields (they are so plentiful 
 there) but by that time the fate of the city will be sealed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE PLAN AT WORK. 
 
 " Put him whar I kin find him and take him back to his 
 angel mother when the war is over," were the only instruc- 
 tions which the old man had to give in regard to the burial of 
 poor Sammy. 
 
 And so they placed him in a vault, in the little Catholic 
 cemetery outside of the city, near the entrenched camp, as 
 you go northward on the old SewalFs Point road ; and the 
 old man sat himself down there to watch the tomb and 
 wait. 
 
 As for Claude Walsingham, the other patient, though at 
 first only suffering from drunkenness, and whose incarceration 
 in the hospital might at the beginning have been regarded in 
 the light of a huge joke, he came very near following the boy ; 
 for he was no sooner beginning to recover from the stupor of 
 inebriety than he was seized with a violent attack of typhoid 
 fever, which laid him at death's door for days and weeks. 
 
 In the meantime, all Norfolk was in high jinks over the cap- 
 ture of a negro spy, who was returning from Fortress Monroe 
 with letters to certain persons or a certain person, involving 
 the said persons or person in the crime of treason. 
 
 Miss Buttercup, for one, had been arrested, and Captain 
 
102 TOM BunroK. 
 
 Claude Walsingham was wanted as an accomplice. The friends 
 of Claude were struck dumb with dismay. We say friends, we 
 should have said acquaintances, for most of those who once 
 bore the former relation had long since repudiated him. 
 Still they felt sorry for his downfall, and were affected by his 
 disgrace in so far as their association with him had been in- 
 timate or distant. 
 
 While the particulars were suppressed, as a matter of 
 course, the news of Claude's downfall spread like a wild-fire 
 in a prairie, and not only was his name associated with some 
 great unmentioned crime, from one end of the Confederacy 
 to the other, but paragraphs from Northern journals were 
 copied from paper to paper, until there was no place from 
 Canada to the Gulf, or from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
 where newspapers were read, in which his name was not a 
 synonym for treason. 
 
 On the Eastern Shore, where lived many of his relatives 
 and companions of his 3'outh, people who had high hopes of 
 his future attainments in the field as well as the councils of 
 his State and country, the blow fell heaviest of all. 
 
 They had heard of his escapades with Miss Buttercup, of 
 his intemperance, and all the other unpleasant rumors about 
 him, and while these things gave free scope to gossip, people 
 who knew that Claude was a jolly good fellow, generous, 
 pleasure loving, and all such as that, said : " He's only having 
 a little fun. He'll come out all right. You just wait until 
 he gets into active service ; 3"ou will see that he will give a 
 good account of himself.'^ 
 
 But when this last report came over, that he was a traitor, 
 and that his neck would soon be inside a halter, or a half 
 dozen bullets through his heart, shot there b}^ his own people, 
 they ceased to extenuate, and set him down as one who had dis- 
 appointed all their hopes, betrayed the trust his friends had re- 
 posed in him, and richly deserved the most condign punish- 
 ment that could be inflicted. 
 
 Colonel Burton, perhaps his greatest enemy, though an 
 honorable one, himself was hurt, and refused to think or talk 
 about the matter with any one, only saying that he was 
 sorry to hear it and hoped there was some mistake ; and ven- 
 tured to say that it would j^et appear that Captain Claude 
 Walsingham had been imposed upon. 
 
 Meanwhile, his whereabouts, unknown to all, save the in- 
 mates of St. Vincent de Paul, and his real name only to two 
 of the sisters, Claude was writhing in the agonies of fever, 
 delirious, raving, careering, as it were, on the very ragged 
 
TOM BUBTON. I90 
 
 edge of an abyss so deep and dark, that to have fallen over 
 into it would have forever put him beyond the reach of 
 his maliguers, or the care of his friends. 
 
 It was well that Claude was drunk when he was taken to 
 St. Vincent's ; and that his cognomen was unknown. The 
 servant, John, knew him as a captain in the army, and the 
 two nuns were not ignorant of his full name, but,*^for fear it 
 might interfere with the working of their plans, they had 
 thought best not to reveal it. 
 
 Claude was so much intoxicated that he could not remem- 
 ber his own name, and his relapse into the delirium of typhoid 
 fever was so sudden, that it had been impossible for the 
 Sister Superior, or the doctor, to obtain his history. His en- 
 try was : 
 
 " A Confederate Captain," (name unknown), entered Feb- 
 ruary, — 1862; age about 30; complexion light; con- 
 dition, stupor, caused by alcoholic indulgence, or some un- 
 known and undeveloped disease ; assigned to third floor, 
 room 26." 
 
 So far he was safe. The city was scoured by the military 
 authorities to find him, but in vain. 
 
 They at last made up their minds that he had escaped to 
 the Federals, and was safely ensconced at Fortress Monroe. 
 
 All this time Claude was a sick man. To nurse him. Sister 
 Irene was appointed, assisted by the novice. The latter was 
 allowed to dress in the insignia of the order. In doing this, 
 she was allowed to retain her wealth of brown hair, which 
 she dexterously tucked under her cornet. The change of 
 dress, while it served as a complete disguise, did not mar her 
 striking beauty. Her dark eyes were darker still, her rich 
 complexion more delicately fair, her placid countenance 
 more interesting than before, and the lithe outlines of 
 her perfect little form appeared to good advantage, though 
 draped in the plain, full robe of the Sisters of St. Vincent de 
 Paul. 
 
 " You are the prettiest little nun I ever did see," said 
 Sister Irene, as she ran to her and kissed her over and over, 
 the day she first arrayed herself in her new costume. " I 
 know of but one drawback to your success in your new voca- 
 tion," she continued. 
 
 ^^ And pray what is that ? " 
 
 " You are too attractive." 
 
 "You wrong me, my dear Sister Irene. I should despise 
 my very self if I thought for a moment there was anything 
 in my face or form which invited a worldly feeling. I know 
 my heart is pure." 
 
194 I^OM BURTON. 
 
 "Forgive me, m}'- dearest little one. You misunderstand 
 me. I did not mean that there was anything sensuous in 
 your appearance. On the contrary, you are angelic. But 
 the world is charmed as much by such beauty, and even 
 more so, than b}^ that which savors of the impure." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Sister Irene; you are too complimentary. Now 
 you just say your prayers and jump into your bed and get a 
 good nap, while I go and see how our poor prisoner is fight- 
 ing his battle with the old man with his sickle. The doctor 
 thinks he's getting the better of it, and will pull through if 
 he holds out a few days longer." 
 
 " And I think he ought to be pretty well cured of his 
 moral, as well as his mental aberrations by the time he gets 
 through with this spell," suggested Sister Irene. 
 
 "But w^hat shall we do when he gets well ? They'll ar- 
 rest him immediately if he appears in the street ; and we all 
 know he is not guilty." 
 
 " Your faith in the captain's vindication and restitution is 
 strong, my little friend. I trust j^our prophetic acumen will 
 prove correct, and everything come out as gratifying as the 
 denouement of an ordinary love novel, but I must confess 
 I am somewhat in doubt as to the final result. His cap- 
 tainship's luck seems to be sadly at fault. He no sooner 
 gets out of one trouble, than in spite of himself and all his 
 friends can do to help him, he gets into another." 
 
 "Maybe he is coming to the end of his trials, Sister 
 Irene." 
 
 " Yes, if his trials do not bring him to his end, my dear 
 little friend." 
 
 " Which may the Holy Virgin forfend. Good night, 
 Sister Irene, and pleasant dreams," 
 
 " Alas ! my pleasant dreams are all in the past. I hope 
 you will find the captain very much better. Good-bj-e." 
 
 Back in the south-east corner of the third floor of the 
 building was situated the room where Claude lay. 
 
 Down one flight of steps, and through a long corridor, the 
 Little Sister tripped with light footsteps. She had every 
 reason to believe her patient was convalescent, and this made 
 her heart as light as her footstep. There was a bright smile 
 irradiating all over her face, and when she entered Claude's 
 chamber, it was as if a ray of sunshine had suddenly burst 
 into the room, although the sick man was not in a condition 
 to fully realize it. The apartment was scrupulously clean, 
 and unobstructed with useless furniture. A table, on which 
 were some phials aiul [ijll-boxes, ice-water and tumblers, milk 
 
TOM BURTON, 195 
 
 pitcher, spoons, lemons, sugar and brand}^ ; two easy chairs 
 and the couch on which the invalid had already tossed for 
 over twenty days, were all the appointments. 
 
 With the exception of a slight odor peculiar to the disease, 
 there was nothing in the room to indicate that a human being 
 had there been alternating between life and death for so many 
 daj's-save the emaciated face of the sick one, and the thinning 
 out of his once profuse auburn locks. For fourteen days Claude 
 had been out of his head, knowing nothing. During that 
 time he had talked of everything he ever knew, and a great 
 deal of what, when in health, he had forgotten. But the most 
 singular thing of all was that he entirely lost all recollection 
 of recent events, and it was with the utmost difficulty he 
 could be led back only a few weeks to the most ordinary 
 events in his recent career. 
 
 This was a fortunate circumstance for the work which the 
 two nuns had in view. If he had only forgotten Miss 
 Buttercup and whisky, they might hope to reclaim him. 
 
 As the Little Sister glided into the room, he looked at her 
 with a sort of stare, and asked : 
 
 ^^AVho are you?" 
 
 " Your nurse. Don^t you remember me ? " she answered, 
 in a cheerful voice. 
 
 " Who ? " he repeated in a loud voice. 
 
 " Your nurse," rejoined the Little Sister, going up near 
 the bedside and raising her voice to a high pitch. 
 
 " Oh, yes. I'm deaf. W^here's the other one ? " 
 
 " Sister Irene ? " 
 
 " Sister somebody. I don't know her name." 
 
 '^ Well, she's out. Do you want her ? " 
 
 "Xo, I was only trying to keep the run of you all. Have 
 I ever seen you before ? " 
 
 " I think so," reijlied the Little Sister, smiling. "Look 
 at me and see if you can't call me to mind." 
 
 " Yes, I think I do. You look kind of natural. Will you 
 please give me some milk ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 Claude drank and turned over. He dozed half an hour, 
 and after lying quietly for several minutes, said : 
 
 "Where am I, and how long have I been sick ? " 
 
 " You have been here over three weeks, and this is St. 
 Vincent's Hospital." 
 
 " W^here did I come from and what am I doing sick here ? " 
 
 " You were taken sick and brought here." 
 
 " From the Eastern Shore ? " 
 
196 TOM BURTON. 
 
 " No. you've been living in Norfolk for some time." 
 
 " Is your name Kate Moore ? " 
 
 "No. Who is she?" 
 
 "Oh, sure enough. What am I talking about. I once 
 knew a young lady by that name. I was engaged to be 
 married to her. But she is taller than you." 
 
 " Did you think a great deal of her ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose so ; though there was another little girl 
 I think I could have loved better, but her family didn't suit 
 me." 
 
 "Who was she, Captain ? " 
 
 " Her name was Mary — Mary Burton. She saved my life 
 once; and her big brother was going to punish me pretty 
 severely, but she took my part." 
 
 " What was that for ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm ashamed to speak of it now ; its all past and 
 gone. But come, sit down here, and tell me how I came to 
 be in Norfolk, and in this place. I feel better if I can be 
 near enough to you to touch your hand. It electrifies me." 
 
 "Of course, you cannot expect me to know much about 
 you, before you came here. Although you have told us a great 
 deal about your past life since you have been sick." 
 
 " Talking out of my head ? " 
 
 " Yes. You know you came here from your home as an 
 officer in the army." 
 
 " Oh, yes. The North and the South are at war. Yes, 
 I remember. But what have I been doing all this time in 
 Norfolk ? " 
 
 " Living rather a fast life. Captain." 
 
 " Me, living a fast life ! " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Am I Claude Walsingham ? " 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 " W^hat do you mean by a fast life ? " 
 
 " Well now, you must not put me in a categorical position, 
 Captain. Overhaul your memory a little, and see if you can- 
 not recall some moral lapses of quite recent date." 
 
 "I remember enlisting in the army, of having to retreat 
 from the Eastern Shore, since which time, everything seems 
 vague and dream-like. But my head aches, now, and if you 
 will please hand me a glass of milk, I will try and sleep a 
 little. Perhaps, when I am better I shall be able to connect 
 things with more certitude. You are a nice little Sister, 
 and I already like you very much, Won't you stay with me 
 a great deal ? " 
 
TOM BURTON. I97 
 
 The Little Sister assured him that he should want for 
 nothing that was in her power to bestow, and smoothing his 
 pillow, she left him alone with a bewildered brain and the 
 wild dreams of a yet enfeebled intellect, well pleased, so far, 
 with the success of her darling scheme. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYII. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 When the Little Sister again peeped into Claude's room, 
 he was wide awake and seeing her enter, beckoned her to his 
 bedside. 
 
 " Have you slept ? *' she inquired, taking his hand as 
 usual. 
 
 " Yes ; and oh I such a dream as I have had."' 
 
 " A good or bad one ? "' 
 
 " All sorts. Let me tell it to you." 
 
 " Hadn't you better rest ? " 
 
 " No, I feel much better now, and this plaguey dream 
 bothers me so I must get rid of it." 
 
 " Well, then, if it will relieve you to relate it, and you 
 think it will not excite you too much, go ahead." 
 
 ^' You know I was trying to recall some matters when you 
 were here before, and with my mind puzzled about it I drop- 
 ped off into a little nap, during which I had a most fantastic 
 vision. 
 
 ••' I thought I was home on the Eastern Shore of Yirginia, 
 and somehow or other a war broke out between the Aboli- 
 tionists, that is the Xorthern Methodist people, you know." 
 The Little Sister nodded her head in affirmation, and 
 Claude continued — "and the better class of people who are 
 sometimes styled Bourbons, 3'ou know, or aristocrats. And 
 I of course, siding with the latter, had to go away some where 
 to fight them. I felt very well and strong, and all my heart 
 seemed to be in the cause, for I despised those low-born eman- 
 cipators, and longed to exterminate them. If I don't speak 
 loud enough let me know ; and if I get weary and give out, 
 wait for me, because I want to tell you all of it. If you hold my 
 hand I think I shall not get tired. Well, when I arrived at the 
 place where I was to meet the enemy, I found them gone. 
 
198 TOM BURTON. 
 
 somewhere I knew not. At all events I couldn't find them. 
 Now, while I was there waiting for something, I do not 
 know what, living a sort of gay and voluptuous life, such as 
 seems to naturally belong to an inactive military campaign, 
 I met a very lovely woman, most perfect in form, most beau- 
 tiful in features. I remember as plainly as if I saw it now, 
 her hand and arm which were so shapely, the latter very 
 much like your — no doubt it was yours which suggested the 
 idea — be that as it may, I must confess I was perfectly en- 
 raptured with this person. She was larger than j^ou ; and 
 her attire was something superb. The impression which 
 still remains upon my brain tells me she was a sort of Arab- 
 ian Nights' fairy — " 
 
 "A very pleasant being to contemplate. Captain," inter- 
 rupted the Little Sister, as much to give the feeble narrator 
 time to breathe, as anj^thing. 
 
 ''Yes, as pretty as a picture. But let me go on. Well, 
 now, this siren was so fascinating, and managed to get such 
 a hold on me that I forgot to go back home, giving myself 
 up to her, heart and soul." 
 
 " AVhich many a warrior has done before you," again put 
 in the Little Sister. 
 
 " Yes, Sister, and to their sorrow, as it proved to me in 
 my vision." 
 
 " Indeed." 
 
 " Of a truth. Now, when I think of how I behaved, I am 
 disgusted with myself ; for this woman proved to be a demon 
 in disguise." 
 
 " Strange," ejaculated the Little Sister. 
 
 " Not stranger than true, my sweet nurse, and although I 
 tried my hardest to break the spell, I could not get away 
 from her. It seemed to me I was bound to her by ten thou- 
 sand cords of steel. I could neither leave her or resist her 
 blandishments. Then, somehow or other I got all tangled 
 up in my dream, almost losing my identity. She seemed to 
 put me finally into a sort of mesmerized state, from which I 
 awoke to find myself, not in the presence of resplendent 
 beauty, but confronted by a living skeleton. I shudder now, 
 when I think of how she appeared to me. Instead of the 
 classic hands once so round and plump, of which I have 
 spoken, I saw only the bare phalanges, nude of flesh and 
 filth}'. Her once lovely eyes were sunken far back in their 
 hollow sockets, and had a glassy and dead expression. Her 
 rich dark hair no longer adorned her bare white skull. Her 
 once beautiful nose was no longer there, only the wide XiQ^- 
 
TOM BURTON. 199 
 
 trils, like black caverns, her teeth, denuded of their 
 gums, grinned in my face so ghastly, my very blood curd- 
 led in my veins. There was now no dimpled chin, but 
 a lower jaw short and protruding, like that of a gorilla. 
 Even while I gazed at her, filled with disgust and dread, 
 her rich robes of silk and satin dropped from a form 
 which artists delighted to copy, and left to naked view 
 the outlines of a hideous cadaver. I was chained to the spot 
 unable to move. I was frightened, and tried to call you, 
 but could not articulate a single word. 
 
 '•Presently, this awful spectre caught my hand in her flesh- 
 less grasp and drew me away, her bones rattling and her 
 joints creaking as she went through the gasless streets of a 
 deserted city, out into barren fields, through deep dark 
 forests, to a black and torpid stream, which seemed to be 
 flowing rapidly down through dark and fetid regions of 
 swamp, its banks reeking with slimy serpents, and gaunt and 
 hungry looking crocodiles. 
 
 '•'There we came to a boat, a sort of canoe, and into this 
 she stepped, drawing me after her, and seizing an oar she 
 steered the low black craft out into the stream, down the 
 •river w^e sailed. 
 
 " My grim pilot stood up behind me in the boat, and laugh- 
 ed in derision at my helpless condition, a hollow mocking 
 laugh. It was not long before the river widened, themarsiies 
 were left behind, and we were passing through a splendid 
 country ; w^hose sloping plains and extended vistas seemed 
 to stretch into the very confines of Paradise. Along the 
 margin of the swiftly flying stream lay lawns of emerald ver- 
 dure, where happ}^ children played, and men and women 
 basked in the shady groves, or strolled through avenues of 
 lofty Lombardies, w^hose cool, green tops seemed to be in 
 close communion with the azure of the summer sky. I long- 
 ed to leap into the water and swim away to the pleasant 
 shore, but I could not. Alas, I was a prisoner and bound to 
 the dismal regions of darkness, as fast as the rapid current 
 could sw^eep us on ; while all around me on either side was 
 life and health and happiness. By and by, the river grew more 
 rapid, the banks less inviting, the sun began to slope toward 
 the West, and away ahead I heard the roar of an awful cata- 
 ract, toward which the eddying stream seemed to be gliding 
 with the velocity of time itself. I looked, and beyond the ra- 
 pids I saw a w^ide and shoreless ocean, dark with clouds lashed 
 by tempests, and roaring with a fury which could be detect- 
 ed even above that made by the rush of water at tlie fulls. 
 
200 TOM BUETOX. 
 
 I gave up in desi)air, and must have suffered in my sleej), for 
 my bed is even now damp from perspiration. It makes my 
 very flesh creep when I think how dismayed I felt. 
 
 All this time I had not thought to pray. You know I al- 
 ways despised religion." 
 
 " Is that possible ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is only too true. Like Paul, I persecuted the 
 Christians, and now it began to come to my mind that perhaps 
 this was a punishment sent upon me for my evil deeds. I could 
 do nothing else, so I tried to pray. But I could not utter a word. 
 My tongue was paralyzed. But in my heart I prayed, with 
 closed lips and upturned eyes. I promised God every thing 
 if he w^ould save me, and all the while we drifted on. 
 
 I know not how long I prayed ; but as I still implored, I 
 caught the sound of singing afar off, and soon above my 
 head the whirr of wings, and then the sight of a great com- 
 pany of angelic beings, who seemed to be passing over the 
 river from one side to the other, but far up in the heavens. 
 As they approached the middle of the stream, where we 
 drifted, they stooj^ed in their course, and regarded me and 
 ni}^ strange captor with a moment's interest, and then sailed 
 away on their aerial journey. Thousands passed me thus, th^ 
 faces of some of whom I recognized, especially one whom I 
 left on the shore weeping, when, full of ambition, I started 
 on my unrighteous errand ; but she, like the rest, gave a 
 glance of commiseration and passed on, singing as she went. 
 
 At last I caught sight of one sweet face, like yours, it was ; 
 and now my time was growing short, the fearful roar of the 
 midnight ocean bellowing loudly, and the fretted water 
 w^hirling and surging about the frail bark. I thought she 
 would i^ass me too, and all hope was gone ; when halting in 
 her course, she gazed upon me intently, then circling round 
 and round above my head until I felt the fanning of her 
 golden wings, she reached forth her tapering finger and 
 touched the head of the frightful monster beliind me. I heard 
 a crash as of dry bones falling in the bottom of the boat, and 
 saw the hateful demon lying there in a heap, and alighting 
 where the grim pilot had stood, the angel took the helm. 
 
 I now had turned round, and there stood one whose 
 face I knew a long time ago. It was she who twice before 
 had stood between me and j^eril, risking all that I might es- 
 cape pain and death. Slie held out her hand — so much like 
 this, I could almost make oath it were the same — and touched 
 my lips. In a moment I was changed. I felt myself rising 
 in mid-air^ and ascending, wing-and-wing, with my angelic 
 
TOM BURTON. 201 
 
 rescuer. Far below me, I saw tlie boat tossed wildly by the 
 mad billows, plungiDg headlong over the rapids and disap- 
 pearing in the seething abyss. And then we rose to greater 
 heights, until, no longer chilled by the dread of death, in the 
 genial rays of the declining sun we soared away to regions of 
 unutterable bliss, and I awoke. 
 
 And while I la^^, my heart yet panting with the excite- 
 ment of my unaccountable dream, and waiting for you to 
 come in, I promised God, if he would raise me from this bed 
 of sickness, I would change my life and be a better man, 
 and if I could ever find an opportunity, I would by some sac- 
 rifice make atonement to her who I now acknowledge as the 
 best friend I ever had, even my guardian angel, sweet Mary 
 Burton." 
 
 The tears were glistening in his eyes, the perspiration 
 standing on his pale brow, while the Little Sister, with her 
 face turned away, was weeping silently. Her prayers had 
 been answered, her work almost accomplished ; so ready are 
 the good angels and willing to help us, even though we only 
 resolve to do a gracious act. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE REVELATIOX AND RESOLVE. 
 
 Six days after the incident related in the last chapter, and 
 the 9th of March was at hand. 
 
 The day before had been one of unusual excitement at Nor- 
 folk. The greatest effort of mechanical skill and inventive 
 genius yet put forth by the Confederates, and perhaps by 
 mankind in the art of naval warfare, had that day been con- 
 summated, and had culminated in a result as signal as it was 
 astonishing. So much so, that the most sanguine adherent 
 of the Union cause began to look with serious forebodings 
 upon the ultimate success of the country's struggle, and the 
 restoration of the Federal Government. 
 
 The "Merrimac," an old hulk left burned to the water's edge 
 and sunk by the United States authorities when they evacu- 
 ated the Gosport navy yard, had been raised, reconstructed, 
 built upon with laj^ers of wood and iron, launched and 
 equipped, and had steamed down the Elizabeth Biver to 
 
202 TOM BURTON. 
 
 Hampton Roads, sunk two of the finest ships of the Federal 
 Navy, and inflicted a loss upon her adversaries of two hun- 
 dred and fifty men ; with only two of her crew killed and 
 eight wounded, and that by an explosion of one of her own 
 guns. 
 
 With colors flying, and amid the salvos of Confederate 
 artillery and the wild acclamations of thousands of rejoicing 
 people, she had sailed back, at the close of that eventful day, 
 in all her glory, the pride of the Confederacy and the wonder 
 of the world. 
 
 All Secessia stood on tiptoe, and all the Union trembled. 
 There was no eye to pity, no arm to save. Claude Walsing- 
 ham, who was getting better rapidly, so rapidly that he was 
 sitting up, heard the guns, and inquired the cause. 
 
 '' They are fighting down the river," replied Sister Irene, 
 who was relieving the Little Sister that day. 
 
 " Fighting," repeated Claude, vaguel3\ 
 
 "Yes ; the "Virginia" went down the harbor, this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "What "Virginia"? 
 
 " The iron-clad ; don't j^ou understand ? '' 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I do remember, now." Claude put his hand to 
 his brow, as if to collect his thoughts. " It seems like a 
 dream ; I have been sick so long, and dreamed so much, I 
 can scarcely discern between the visionary and the real. 
 Will you not sit down and tell me all about it, just as it is ? 
 and when I have got it all straight in my head, it will all 
 come back to me, I think." 
 
 "Well, now, to begin. The country is at war." 
 
 " Yes, I realize that." 
 
 " And you, yourself, are a Confederate officer." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " Your recent illness has been so severe, that it has caused 
 a suspension of memory. As I go and relate to 3'ou the facts 
 connected with your recent past, you will, no doubt, be able 
 to grasp them. You came over to ^tSTorfolk, when your part 
 of the country was invaded by the enem3\ While here, you 
 were taken sick, and brought to the hospital." 
 
 " The other Sister has told me that ; but there is an in- 
 terim, and it is that interim which hangs upon me like a 
 nightmare. I have puzzled my brain a thousand times to 
 unravel it. Tell me all about it. No matter how unpleasant 
 it is, I can bear it." 
 
 " I must inform you, Captain, at the beginning, it is not 
 the most pleasing part of your life to recall j but as you de- 
 
TOM BURTOif. 203 
 
 sire me to speak of it, and the time seems to have arrived 
 for me to do so, I will gratify you. It may do you an un- 
 accountable amount of good." Sister Irene spoke slowly, 
 and very impressively. 
 
 "After arriving in Norfolk, you were carried away by en- 
 thusiasm, and the gayeties of the city, and became intem- 
 perate. Young and impressionable, you made the acquaint- 
 ance of a very bad woman. With her influence, you sank 
 rapidly to disgrace." 
 
 " Do you refer to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, to you, Claude Walsingham. You will allow me to 
 tell you of your faults, because you know I am your friend. 
 That woman I refer to, led you astray. You fell from your 
 high position in society. The woman in the case was 
 arrested for treason, and you were by some means impli- 
 cated." 
 
 " Great God ! is this so, or a horrid dream ? 
 
 "This is all so. The charge, I think, is that of communi- 
 cating important information to the Commandant of Fortress 
 Monroe, in regard to the defenses of Norfolk. Had you not 
 been sick, and under this roof, you would now be languish- 
 ing in prison, or, perhaps, shot long ago." 
 
 Claude was so pale, that Sister Irene was afraid she was 
 premature. He pressed his hand to his brow again, and 
 said: 
 
 " I begin to realize it all, but yet indifferently. Oh, that 
 horrid woman! But go on, Sister Irene; let it all come 
 now, even if it kills me." 
 
 " No one knows of your whereabouts but the Little Sister, 
 and myself. We have not only nursed you in your sickness, 
 but protected you and shielded you from arrest." 
 
 " How shall I ever repay you, dear ladies ? I tell you, so 
 help me Heaven, as I expect to die and be judged at the last 
 day, I am not guilty." 
 
 " So we believe." 
 
 "But how am I to repair all this injury to my name and 
 family ? What shall I do ? " 
 
 "To answer you in detail would require a sermon. Let 
 me in a general and concise manner tell you what you must 
 do. The Little Sister and I have undertaken to see you 
 through, and if you will be guided by us, you may yet be 
 saved." 
 
 " How could I refuse such guidance ? " 
 
 "First, you must remain here until you are strong. Then 
 you must get out of the city, make your way to Riclimond 
 
^Oi TOM BtlBTOJ^, 
 
 and enlisting in the army as a private soldiei*, Redeem your- 
 self from the opprobrium of the false charges made against 
 you. They are fighting on tlie peninsula, and you can find 
 a place in which to serve your country from which you can 
 rise to eminence or die at the post of duty. Blood wipes out 
 sins. Once more on your feet, you can face the crime now 
 charged against you, and defend j^ourself. Secondly, you must 
 be temperate, ay, in your case, abstemious. Thirdly, you 
 must not be carried away by the charms of the softer sex, 
 especially when they are found in persons of unsavory rep- 
 utation. Fourthly, you must fulfil all the vows you have 
 made, if in so doing you do not violate a good conscience. 
 If you will do these things trusting in Grod for help, and j^ou 
 are really innocent, it will all be well with you again. 
 
 " Sister Irene, I thank you for this revelation, and I swear 
 that henceforth I will live a virtuous and an honorable life. 
 As my past conduct comes back to me I see all my folly ; and 
 my sins are ever before me." 
 
 " Keep 3^ourself in that frame of mind, my dear Captain, 
 and your restitution is an assured fact ; nothing but the most 
 circumspect life will now save you from the lowest depths of 
 ignominy." 
 
 " With your help, the Little Sister's and God's, I will so 
 live, and show to the. world that although a sinner, lam 
 not a traitor, and although I have been immoral I am not lost." 
 
 While all these things were transpiring in and around 
 Norfolk, the great heart of the North was throbbing with 
 patriotic emotion; and her sons in every section thirsting not 
 for revenge or blood, but for the salvation of that Union 
 under which their fathers had lived so happily and achieved 
 so much. Every device and every scheme which an inven- 
 tive Yankee could discover, with which to match the genius 
 of the finished Southern, was brought into requisition. But 
 among them all there was one man living in New York whose 
 name will go down to posterity along with the few undying 
 ones that figured in the historj^ of the times, and that was 
 John Ericsson. For months he had quietly been engaged in 
 building an odd looking sort of a boat, at which every body 
 who saw it laughed or sneered. 
 
 " It will sink to the bottom," said one. " It will never 
 leave the harbor," said another. " Its a stupendous failure, 
 if anything so insignificant can be called stupendous," said 
 a third. But old John worked on, and when it was finished 
 he called it the "Monitor." 
 
 A few days after the fijst of March the vessel, derisively 
 
TOM BUBTOy. 205 
 
 called, the " Cheese Box," from the shape of its turret, 
 sailed awaj' for Fortress Monroe. 
 
 On the night of the 8th as the victorious " Merrimac " 
 steamed gayly up the river to rest on her laurels for the day, 
 the '• Monitor," hardly visible above the waves, crept slowly by 
 the batteries and redoubts of the old fort and anchored in the 
 roads, behind the disabled "Minnesota." Little hope did this 
 strange craft infuse into the hearts of those who that day had 
 seen the huge leviathan of the seas come down from Xorfolk, 
 careering on her mission of blood and destruction, as unaffect- 
 ed by the heaviest shot and shell as the roof of a house by the 
 rain of ordinary hailstones, and that was only waiting for 
 the morrow to come back, finish her work of destruction in 
 the roads, and then lay tribute to or destroy every seaboard 
 city of the North. 
 
 The day came and so did the "Merrimac," steering 
 straight for the " Minnesota.'^ Thousands of eyes were upon 
 her. Thousands of hearts were quaking with fear. Would 
 the little, low oddity sent down there by John Ericsson dare 
 to meet her ? 
 
 All the shore was lined with anxious spectators. The 
 walls of the fortress, the rigging of the ships, the buildings 
 of Hampton (those that remained), were black with human 
 beings. 
 
 A shout that made the welkin ring went up when, gliding 
 out from behind the stranded battle ship, the thing they 
 had called the " Cheese Box " was seen to go forth with its 
 single gun to meet the Goliath of the South, and the fight 
 began. 
 
 The great historic harbor which had seen the weary 
 pioneers of civilization come sailing through its ample gate- 
 way long years before ; the welcome transports bringing 
 provisions and sympath}^ from their distant home across the 
 seas ; the hostile fleets of Britain, and the timely argosies of 
 DeGrasse and Rochambeau in the days of the great Revolu- 
 tion ; and the late events of the war of 1812, was this day 
 to witness a naval contest which in its awful splendor should 
 put to blush the daring deeds of Paul Jones, and sink into 
 comparative nothingness the world-renowned achievements 
 of the gallant Xelson. 
 
 Finding nothing to shoot at, the commander of the " Mer- 
 rimac" assayed to run down his insignificant adversary ; but 
 the alertness of the " Monitor" and the clumsiness of the 
 former prevented the consummation of that object, and con- 
 vinced the Confederate that he had crossed swords with a foe 
 that was worthy of his steel. 
 
206 TOM BURTON. 
 
 From early in the morning nntil the afternoon "began io 
 wane, did those Titans grapple in deadly conflict, sometimes 
 crashing together, at others hroadside to broadside with 
 cannon-mouths almost touching, pouring forth the deafening 
 thunder of their artillery, veiled in sulphureous flame, and 
 reeling like drunken men under the terrific force of the blows 
 received from the heavy ordnance they carried. 
 
 And so they fought on until the pride of the Confederacy 
 balked, battered, and disabled, backed out of the fight and 
 steamed away to her anchorage, leaving the roads in posses- 
 sion of the little "Moniter" the fleet at the Fortress unmo- 
 lested, and the country once more hopeful. 
 
 All that day Claude sat in his room and listened to the 
 jar of the great guns ; but they awoke no enthusiasm 
 in his breast. Sickness, regret, and a sense of lost pride 
 and injured honor made every thing appear to him in a dis- 
 torted and sickly light, and in his weak condition Ambition 
 found no fuel to feed on, and Hope no resting-place for the 
 sole of her feet. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 THE ARREST AND TRIAL. 
 
 The defeat of the " Merrimac " brought dismay upon the 
 people of Norfolk. It was to this part of the country a 
 Waterloo. They had predicated a large amount of hope on 
 their pet scheme which now gave way to chagrin. 
 
 Naturally they laid the coincidence of the " Monitor's " in- 
 opportune appearance, on the day after the sailing of the 
 '' Merrimac," to the work of traitors, and the spirit of revenge 
 was aroused afresh against Miss Buttercup and her ac- 
 complice. 
 
 To make matters still worse for Claude, this execrable 
 woman, under promise of condonement, had accused him of 
 being particeps criminis with herself, and under pretence 
 of turning State's evidence, and incriminating him, had 
 made a false confession which set the whole town at his 
 heels like a pack of hungry wolves. 
 
 Negro slaves were not more impeccable than their white 
 masters, and being by nature watchful and communicative, 
 were valuable as spies, and treacherous as friends. 
 
TOM BURTON. UU7 
 
 When it was thoroughly known that it was Caj^tain Chiude 
 AValsingliam who was wanted, it did not require more than 
 ten dollars in Confederate money to discover his hiding 
 place. Xor could any vigilance on the part of his two 
 female friends at the hospital prevent it. 
 
 On the verj'- morning succeeding that on which was fought 
 the great battle of the iron-clads, an orderlj' accompanied by 
 four soldiers with muskets, waited on the Sister Superior 
 of St. Vincent's, and asked the privilege of searching the 
 premises. 
 
 '^ It is a downright outrage, and I protest against such a 
 desecration," replied Sister Matilda. " If you have no re- 
 spect for the institution and the Sisters, I should think you 
 would for the sick," she continued. 
 
 " War, madam, has no respect for the sick, nor for institu- 
 tions. I am sent here to search among your patients for 
 Claude Walsingham, and if we find him and he is able to go 
 with me, to take him ; or if he is too ill to be removed, to 
 leave a guard at his room door. 
 
 " Claude Walsingham ? " repeated the Sister Superior, " I 
 know of no one here by that name. We have no such per- 
 son." 
 
 " We shall be better satisfied after we have looked through 
 the building," replied the orderly, determined not to be put 
 off. 
 
 "Then you'll have to proceed, as you are determined to do 
 so, whether with or without my consent." 
 
 " We are sorry, madam, to have to displease you, but, we 
 know our duty, and however unpleasant the job, we have no 
 choice but to obey orders. Will 3'ou guide us through, or 
 shall we go our own way ? " 
 
 One of the sisters was called to show them through the 
 building. 
 
 They had not proceeded far when the Little Sister became 
 cognizant of their presence in the hospital. She ran to the 
 Sister Superior in breathless agitation : 
 
 ''Who are they looking for. Sister Matilda ?" 
 
 " Your patient, I presume, as he is the only soldier in the 
 hospital, at this time." She flew to Sister Irene. 
 
 " What shall we do. Tliere are soldiers in the house, and 
 they are looking for Claude. How can we manage to keep 
 them away from liis room ? " 
 
 '' That is impossible now. They will take no excuse. We 
 shall have to allow things to take their natural course." 
 
 " But he is not guilty, and must not suffer. Besides he is 
 not strong enough yet to be removed." 
 
208 TOM BURTON. 
 
 " I fear there is no way to prevent his removal. The only 
 thing we can do is to look after him wherever they take him, 
 and defend him as best we can. They are already going to 
 his room, I hear their footsteps in that direction." 
 
 "But they may shoot him, before we can do any thing," 
 pleaded the Little Sister beginning to cry. 
 
 " Perhaps not at once, certainly not without a trial." 
 
 " And that awful woman will lie about him, and he will 
 be ruined," and the Little Sister wrung her white hands in 
 an agony of perplexity, and helplessness. 
 
 " Have faith in God, my little friend. Be assured that 
 justice will prevail," said Sister Irene soothingly, putting her 
 arms about the other's neck. 
 
 " I have had faith in God, Sister Irene, from my earliest 
 childhood, and it has led me through martyrdoms, innumer- 
 able. Alas ! I am almost without hope. Come, let us hurry 
 down, and see what they are doing with him." 
 
 As they descended toward the lower hall, they heard heavy 
 footsteps coming down the corridor of the third floor, and 
 hurrying forward they reached the lower floor ahead of the 
 soldiers, whom they saw following them, with Claude between 
 two of their number heavily ironed about the wrists. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs the two sisters stepped aside to 
 give room for them to pass. As Claude caught sight of his 
 two faithful nurses, his face beamed with a bright and benign 
 smile of recognition. The Little Sister as usual began to 
 weep, but her tears did not blind her. She saw the hard 
 manacles already cutting into his tender flesh. Her sympa- 
 thetic heart was touched by the sight. She sprang forward 
 in front of the orderly, as he stood at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 "Will you please take off the hand-cuffs ? See, they press 
 him too tightly, and cut his wrist. Surely there is no need 
 to manacle him. He is very weak, and cannot run away." 
 
 " But, Miss " 
 
 " Do you imagine for a moment, he can escape from five 
 strong men. Look ! how pale and trembling he is — 
 
 " I will not permit any dictation in this matter. Please 
 stand aside." 
 
 " You are an unfeeling wretch, and I will not stir until 
 you release him." 
 
 " Then, I shall have to remove you," said the sergeant, 
 roughly. 
 
 " You are not a Confederate soldier, to dare to put your 
 hand upon a Sister of Charity. I do not wish to interfere 
 with your duty ; I only plead in the interest of humanity. 
 
TOM BURTON. 209 
 
 If you will take off those heavy irons, I will go all the way 
 with you, and be myself responsible for his safe deliverance, 
 if 3"0U have any fear that he will escape." 
 
 " Stand aside, woman, I say," and as the Sergeant spoke 
 he put up his hand and pushed the girl aside, rudely, dislodg- 
 ing her cornet. 
 
 " For shame !" cried the nuns, as the Little Sister stag- 
 gered backward, Losing the covering for her head, her great 
 volume of hair rolled down upon her shoulders, almost en- 
 veloping her in its ample flood. 
 
 Claude, burning with indignation, would have struck down 
 the brutal offender if he could, but he was powerless. As 
 they ledh im hy he cast a long parting glance at the distressed 
 girl, and as if struck with some sudden vision, he cried 
 out in a loud voice : 
 
 " Hold ! I would speak with her ! A moment, I say ! " 
 But they hurried him on, he looking over his shoulder with 
 an indescribable expression on his face, of surprise and emo- 
 tion. At the provost-marshal's office he was asked his 
 name, age, and place of birth, and whether he had anything 
 to say ; or if he knew Miss Buttercup, or anything in rela- 
 tion to the crime charged against him, which they told him 
 was treason. 
 
 He told them he was not guilty. That he thought he had 
 known Miss Buttercup, but could connect nothing concern- 
 ing her, and the crime with himself in his association with 
 her, which yet seemed like the remembrance of some unpleas- 
 ant dream. 
 
 From thence he was taken to the city jail, and placed in a 
 cell. In pity for his delicate appearance, they gave him a 
 bed of straw, placed on the floor, and a diet better in quality 
 than was furnished the other prisoners. 
 
 In a sort of half insane condition he submitted without a 
 murmur to his fate, sleeping much and gradually gaining 
 strength. In this way he spent the first ten days of his in- 
 carceration previous to his trial, which was now at hand. 
 
 A special general court-martial was called to sit upon his 
 case, and was composed of three colonels and four captains, 
 with the lieutenant-general as Judge- Advocate. 
 
 The session was held in a room of the custom-house in the 
 lower part of the town. The court was an intelligent bod}' 
 of military gentlemen taken from Alabama, Georgia, and 
 Virginia regiments. Claude was allowed counsel, but elected 
 to proceed to trial without any. 
 
 He appeared before the court very much improved in 
 health. 
 
210 TOM BURTON. 
 
 His beard had long been neglected, and was long and 
 auburn in color ; and although he looked much older and 
 sadder than before his illness, he was still a handsome man, 
 and with the effects of strong, drink thoroughly eradicated 
 from his system, looked every inch a gentleman. 
 
 His memory having returned to almost its normal condi- 
 tion, he related as succinctly as possible the history of his 
 life from the time of his leaving the Eastern Shore, to the day 
 of his entrance into the hospital, without referring to events 
 which transpired during fits of intoxication, of which he 
 knew nothing ; disclaiming all knowledge of being in any 
 respect or manner concerned in any act or conspiracy which 
 might be construed as implicating him in any treasonable 
 intent whether of thought, word or deed. 
 
 His manner was calm, dignified and truthful, and made a 
 deep impression on his hearers. After which the trial 
 began. 
 
 The only witnesses were Miss Buttercup and the inter- 
 cepted negro. 
 
 A letter was also produced in evidence which was found in 
 possession of the latter when arrested, directed to Miss But- 
 tercup, and signed by an anonymous writer, dated from Fort- 
 ress Monroe, in the month of Februarj' last, and acknowledg- 
 ing the receipt of another, sent from Norfolk about the same 
 time. 
 
 The negro after being instructed as to the nature of an 
 oath, and the penalty of its violation, testified that he at the 
 instigation of the lady, took a letter to General Wool, at 
 Fortress Monroe, the contents of which he did not know, and 
 was on his way back when intercepted with the note in re- 
 ply, which had been produced in court. That the prisoner 
 was present when Miss Buttercup's missive was handed him, 
 and must have been aware of its destination. The latter was 
 not evidence but a clear and indubitable inference. 
 
 Miss Buttercup was next put upon the witness stand. She 
 appeared with all the indifference of a disinterested person, 
 and testified with as much san(/ froid as if she had never 
 seen the prisoner before, or ever been in the least manner 
 upon terms of any intimacy with him whatever. 
 
 "Do you recognize the prisoner at the bar ?" asked the 
 Judge- Advocate ; after she had been interrogated as to her 
 name, residence, age, etc. 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " How long have you known him ? '^ 
 
 " About four months." 
 
Tom BUBTcm. 211 
 
 '* How were you first brought into contact with him ? " 
 
 " He first came with other gentlemen to my soiree at my 
 house, sir." 
 
 " Was he a frequent visitor to 3'our house ? " 
 
 " After his first visit he came frequently." 
 
 '' What were jonv relations with him ? " 
 
 The witness hesitated. 
 
 " You are at liberty to answer the question or not, as you 
 like." 
 
 "Well, sir, I should say very friendl3\" 
 
 " Will you please state to the court what happened at your 
 house on or about the 8th of February last ? " 
 
 " Captain Walsingham was at my house on or about that 
 day, and I requested him to obtain some information for 
 me." 
 
 " What was that information ? " 
 
 " I wanted to know when the "Virginia" would be ready to 
 sail." 
 
 "Did he serve you in that respect ? " 
 
 " He did. He saw the authorities — that is — he said so — and 
 he came back and told me she would be ready by the 8th 
 of March." 
 
 " Did he know for what purpose you desired the informa- 
 tion ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " He asked me why I wished to know when the "Virginia" 
 would be finished." 
 
 " What was your reply ? " 
 
 " That I had lost faith in the Confederacy, anyhow, and I 
 wished to communicate with the Federals at Fortress Mon- 
 roe." 
 
 "What caused you to lose faith in the cause of the Con- 
 federacy ? " 
 
 " I had come to that conclusion by observation, sir." 
 
 " Are you still of that opinion ? " 
 
 " I decline to answer." 
 
 " So you told Captain Walsingham that you were going to 
 tell them at Fortress Monroe when the Virginia would go 
 into active service ? " 
 
 «I did, sir." 
 
 "Please state what the prisoner said to this." 
 
 " At first he pretended to be shocked, but afterwards said 
 he would aid me, and that we both would be made rich when 
 the war ended 5 and then we could both go to Europe." 
 
212 TOM BUBTON, 
 
 Claude, witK a face unmoved by emotion, looked straight 
 into the eyes of the woman, who bore his searching glance 
 with the assurance of one whose conscience was as clean as 
 the driven snow. 
 
 " Do you know how he obtained that information ? " 
 
 " I do not, sir." 
 
 "What followed after that ? " 
 
 "Then he sat down and wrote a letter at my dictation." 
 
 " To whom was the letter addressed ? " 
 
 " To General John E. Wool." 
 
 " Well, will you please state what was done with the 
 letter ? " 
 
 " We gave it to this colored man." 
 
 "And what did you tell him to do with it ? " 
 
 " We told him to take it to Fortress Monroe." 
 
 AVhen Miss Buttercup was asked to take her seat, the 
 solemn countenances of the judges told but too plainly how 
 unpleasant was the task which lay before them. Most of 
 them had known Claude before his fall, and had hoped that 
 no case would be made out against him. But the evidence 
 was so positive and direct that, without some rebutting tes- 
 timony, his doom was already sealed. 
 
 The Judge- Advocate asked him what he had to say by way 
 of contradiction to the evidence which had been given. 
 
 His only reply was : " I am not guilty." 
 
 "Then you mean to say that these witnesses have lied?" 
 
 "' In part, sir, they have." 
 
 " Were you not a frequent visitor at this woman's house ? 
 Were you not closeted with her every day ? Were you not 
 at her house on the very day in question ? " 
 
 " I must admit I was, sir." 
 
 " What part of her testimony is false, then ? " 
 
 " As God is my judge, sir, I know nothing of that letter 
 or its contents." 
 
 " Did you not give her the information she speaks of ? " 
 
 " Of that, sir, I have no recollection." 
 
 There was a dead and painful silence. Then tlie members 
 of the court-martial put their heads together and conversed 
 in a low tone of voice. 
 
 Claude saw by the pallor of their faces and their averted 
 eyes what the verdict would be. 
 
 The Judge-Advocate told him to rise. He did so. 
 
 " Claude Walsingham, we find you guilty of the crime of 
 treason, as set forth in the several counts and specifications 
 of the charge filed against you, and in deference to your posi- 
 
TOyi BUnTON. 213 
 
 tion in the army and standing in societj-, have decreed tliat 
 you be taken from this room to the city jail, and there kept 
 in close confinement until the 10th day of May next, from 
 which place you will be taken to some point outside of the 
 city limits, between the hours of eight and nine in the morn- 
 ing, and be shot to death, and may God have mercy on your 
 soul." 
 
 Claude heard the sentence with the same stoical indiffer- 
 ence he had maintained throughout the trial, and submitted 
 without a tremor to the shackles that bound his pale hands. 
 He neither looked to the right nor left, but passed down the 
 steps of the custom-house through a gaping crowd, with an 
 armed soldier on either side of him, while Miss Buttercup, 
 with a nonchalant toss of her head, tried to appear uncon- 
 cerned as she swung herself out of the court-room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 The old city prison of Norfolk stands on the corner of 
 Cone Street and Court House Square. It is an ordinary- 
 building, composed of brick, with adobe walls, turteted above 
 the eaves after the style of the middle ages, and long, nar- 
 row windows, heavily grated, but without panes of any sort 
 — mere apertures for the transmission of light as well as 
 ventilation. 
 
 The cells within, constantly filled with the refuse of the 
 negro population, are filthy in the extreme, dark and 
 noisome. 
 
 Claude's was situated on the second floor in the north- 
 west corner, near the landing of the main stairway, and the 
 first of a tier stretching along on the Cove Street side. It 
 was a dismal place, with a straw bed on the floor, a ricketty 
 table a foot square, an earthen pitcher with a broken and 
 ragged brim, and a single Windsor chair. From this miser- 
 able place the once gay and happy young man, full of am- 
 bition and patriotism, would go forth to die. What a mercy 
 had he gone in the delirium of fever before awaking to the 
 awful revelation of his infamy ! 
 
 For the first two or three days which passed after his sen- 
 
L^U TOM BURTON. 
 
 tence, lie neither thought nor talked, but eat and slept as me- 
 chanically as a machine, or as an animal for the slaughter. 
 
 But as his physical condition began to improve, his men- 
 tal faculties became more active, and the struggle began. 
 
 All without was bright and glorious sunshine. The spring 
 was bursting into an effulgence which inspired even the 
 most inanimate things of nature with a new existence. 
 The blood of poor Claude began to flow warmly through 
 his veins_, and his heart to throb in unison with the pulsa- 
 tions of the great world around him. But in his gloomy cell, 
 all was damp, dark and filthy. 
 
 It was natural enough for him to ask himself the question : 
 " What brought me here ? " and dwelling for days and days 
 on this one theme, he settled down at last to this conclusion : 
 "I now see, I have been all wrong. I started out wrong. I 
 am punished, not only because I have done wrong myself, 
 individually, but because my fathers were wrong before me. 
 
 "From my very cradle I have had erroneous ideas of life. I 
 had thought the chief end of man to be luxury in the first 
 place, ambition in the second place, and prejudices of all 
 kinds in the third place. That to be born of certain parent- 
 age, reared in affluence, and belong to the aristocracy, made 
 a man better than his fellows whose beginnings were less 
 pretentious, and whose lots were cast in humbler circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " I did not dream in the happy days gone by I should ever 
 come to this. 
 
 " The Burtons might, I thought, and so might the Masons ; 
 but a Walsingham, never. 
 
 " Thus was I led to despise that sweet creature who bore 
 the hated name, whose debtor I have so often been, and now 
 must ever be. 
 
 " I now see, clearly, I never loved Kate Moore at all. If I 
 had, I should never have yielded to that bad woman as I 
 did — she who has been my ruin. No man who truly loves, 
 and is conscious of it, will ever wrong the object of his affec- 
 tions by debasing himself; for love is the soul of honor. 
 
 "As I now realize that morality is not religion, so now I see 
 that respect alone is not sufficient to keep a man true to his 
 vows. Unless the heart go with the head, the tie is only 
 a rope of sand. 
 
 " If I had only my life to go over again, how different 
 would I act. 
 
 " If I were only free this day I would go to Kate Moore and 
 tell her I had wronged her, that I never knew what it was 
 
TOM BURTON. 215 
 
 to love her as I ought, and then I would give my patri- 
 mony — now all gone to the winds ; I would give all that once 
 attached to my name — now and henceforth to be infamous ; I 
 would surrender my pride — now humbled in the dust — any 
 thing, every thing would I give up for that one poor child, 
 who was as devoted to me as a guardian angel ; and facing a 
 frowning world, go hand and hand with her along earth's 
 lowliest path, a contented and happy man. 
 
 "Though finely educated, and surrounded by glittering 
 conventionalities, I was never taught the value of truth ; not 
 that I or my father was given to lying ; but I was never 
 taught to correctly interpret truth. I simply believed what 
 my ancestors had believed before me ; and what was worse, I 
 held in contempt all others who dared to differ with me. I 
 grew up to believe that God made me better than he did 
 others — out of finer clay — and that he created others for no 
 other purpose but to serve me ; when I ought to have been 
 taught that a clean body, a pure heart, and a bright intellect 
 made the man. 
 
 " I despised the Abolitionists, I persecuted the preachers, I 
 hated the poor, I loved slavery. God is now calling me to 
 an account for it all." And then he bowed his head and 
 continued : 
 
 '' But worst of all, I learned to hate my country, and to 
 curse its flag. Many a time when a boy, traveling with my 
 father, e7i route to this very city, by the way of Fortress 
 Monroe, have I heard him blaspheme the stars and stripes 
 floating over the battery, and damn the soldier guard on 
 duty at the government wharf. 
 
 " Why, oh, why, after living under the protection of that 
 flag so long secure in life, liberty, and the pursuit of happi- 
 ness, did I ever raise my puny arm against it ? 
 
 ''To whom but God and my country do I owe all the 
 briglit days of my youth ; and to whom but the devil and 
 rebellion do I owe all my present misery ? " 
 
 " And what are we fighti.ig for ? To perpetuate slavery, to 
 establish the right to dismember the Union, to set up a 
 Cotton States oligarchy with which the State of Virginia 
 never has had, nor can never have but one single interest of 
 commerce or feeling, and that the brotherhood of slavery. 
 
 '• Oh, height of folly ! Oh, worse than treason ! They may 
 call me a renegade, a poltroon or what not. I know I am 
 innocent of crime, but as I am about to die, my better 
 reason, now free from all passion and prejudice, tells me I 
 have erred, and calls upon me to repent ; and so clear has 
 
216 TOM BURTON, 
 
 the light of truth fallen upon my once benighted mind, 
 that I had rather be a Burton, despised and ostracised, than 
 a Walsingham rich and respected, simply because I was an 
 aristocrat and a Bourbon. 
 
 " But all these thoughts I might as well bury forever in the 
 deepest recesses of my heart. 
 
 " If I confessed to such views as these, it would only add to 
 the suspicions of my guilt. They would say : ' That proves 
 that he is a traitor. That shows him up in his true light — a 
 faithless renegade ! ' 
 
 '^ Oh, oh, oh, to be in this dreadful fix ! Apparently false 
 to my kind and kindred, false to my vows of courtship, false 
 to my oath of fealty, while I know as truly as I live, that 
 in all that made me a characteristic member of my family, 
 in all that led me to promise to wed Kate Moore, and in all 
 that made me a Confederate soldier, I was wrong, wrong, a 
 thousand times wrong ! Living or dying, what is my duty — 
 the duty of an honest man — but to repent, repent, repent ; 
 and right down here will I fall upon my bended knees, and 
 never rise until God for Jesus' sake has made me a new 
 and better man." 
 
 All night long in his loathsome cell, while the vile drunken 
 wretches convicted of petty crimes, caroused and raved on the 
 floor below, did poor Claude wrestle in prayer, like Jacob of 
 old with the angel. 
 
 No longer crowned with the curly locks of Jove, and glory- 
 ing in the strength of a perfect manhood, wdth a haughty 
 step and head erect, disdaining the ground he walked upon ; 
 but weak in body, broken in mind, and crushed in Si3irit, he 
 crawled in the dirt and mire of his prison pen, calling upon 
 God to pity and have mercy upon his poor soul. 
 
 Oh, that night of mortal agony ! As he lay there prostrate, 
 writhing, beating his body with his clenched fists, how his 
 whole life came up scene by scene before him ; and every 
 time he passed upon some important epoch in his career he 
 would reiterate : 
 
 " All wrong, all wrong ! " 
 
 His bloodshot eyes, his black and soiled apparel, looking like 
 a reaper's in the harvest-field, made so by perspiration 
 and the filthy condition of his cell, his crouching, contorted 
 attitude gave him the appearance of one possessed. But still 
 he knew no peace, could find no rest for his soul. Praying 
 did not satisfy. To appease a violated nature, or an angry 
 God, requires restitution. Eaith never yet saved a human 
 being, who, having it in his power to make amends, failed to 
 do it. 
 
TOM BunroN. 217 
 
 Claude Walsingham had done much harm iu the vvuild. 
 AVhat good to the world would be his repentance, his agony, 
 his remorse ? Its influence could not go outside his prison 
 walls. It ^vould not even sweeten the damp odors of the 
 abominable cell, in which, like a demon of the tombs, he 
 wrestled with despair and remorse. Poor Claude had nothing 
 he could call his own. 
 
 ^ He could not promise a future in which to put into prac- 
 tical living his new resolves, for his days were numbered, and 
 w'ould soon be at an end. He would never see either Miss 
 Moore or Miss Burton again, to plead with them for condone- 
 ment of his sins of commission, as to one, and his sins of omis- 
 sion, as to the other.' He could never have the opportunity 
 to offer his services to his outraged countrj^, to repay the in- 
 jury his influence had wrought. Alas ! he knew not what to 
 do. While thus oppressed, a feeling of great humility came 
 over him. He felt more debased than a w^orm of the dust. 
 He ransacked his brain for a comparison — an example for 
 emulation. 
 
 He thought of his old slave, Jim, who used to attend him 
 in boyhood, who kept his horse, hunted and fished with him, 
 serving him faithfully day and night, carrying him on his 
 back, watching over him by the camj^-fire, blacking his boots 
 and dressing him as though he were a child, and through 
 rough usage and good usage, always the same. The old man 
 had never in all his life uttered one complaining word, though 
 kicked and cuffed and sometimes lashed at the whim of an 
 irrascible master. 
 
 He thought of his setter dog— how, w^hen vexed and out of 
 humor, he had beaten him almost to death, the brute would 
 crawl to his feet and lick his boots as if the pleasures of hu- 
 mility exceeded the pain of the blows ; and he was willing to 
 be negro or dog— anything so that God w^ould only let him 
 get close to him and acknowledge him as His child. 
 
 But still though somewhat more at ease, there came not 
 the desired blessing. At last he thought, '•' I will write out my 
 confession and the world shall thus know of my repentance. 
 1 will say to my outraged country, I was misled ; to Kate 
 Moore I will kneel for forgiveness upon the plea that I was 
 mistaken in my feelings and did not love her when I thought 
 i did ; and to the memory of Mary Burton the tribute of a 
 broken heart which, were she living and* I at liberty, should be 
 hers, though the brand of Abolitionism were stamped upon 
 my cheek with a red-hot iron." And feeling thus his heart 
 grew softer, his eyes moist, a calm like that which succeeds 
 
218 'i'OM BURTON. 
 
 a tempest suffused itself through all his being, and completely 
 exhausted and overwhelmed with a sense of utter despair, he 
 crawled to his humble couch and lying down, sobbed himself 
 to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE COMBAT DEEPENS. 
 
 The first of May had arrived. Glorious month of ineffable 
 sweetness in Virginia ! 
 
 But why dilate upon the beauties of the season when the 
 black cloud of war hung like a pall over all the fair land about 
 which w^e write ? 
 
 Once again the plains of Yorktown drank up the blood of 
 English-speaking people. Once more the famous cave of 
 Cornwallis was rehabilitated, and the home of Nelson became 
 a target for the cannoneer. Never before was there such ac- 
 tivity at Fortress Monroe. Never has there been since Gen- 
 eral McClellan was projecting his fatal " On to Richmond," 
 and General Wool his successful descent upon Norfolk. 
 
 With such stirring events almost in sight of him. Colonel Bur- 
 ton could not remain an idle spectator. He asked and received 
 permission to advance with his regiment to the front. It was 
 soon noised abroad that his command was about to be trans- 
 ferred. So considerate had he been in his administration of 
 military affairs on the Eastern Shore — so well disciplined his 
 troops, that all the people had become reconciled to the return 
 of the old government, and expressed general and widespread 
 regret at his intended departure. 
 
 Many of the best citizens of the two counties called upon 
 him, assuring him of their good wishes, and invoking his in- 
 fluence in the choice of his successor. 
 
 It was the day before his departure, and everything was 
 bustle and confusion at head-quarters. 
 
 On that day Colonel Burton received the following note : 
 
 " Colonel Thomas Burton, 
 
 " Commanding Federal Forces, 
 
 " Eastern Shore of Virginia. 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " Will you please do me the favor to call before leaving 
 
TOM BURTON. 219 
 
 the Shore. I desire the pleasure of bidding you " good- 
 bye." 
 
 "Respectfully yours, 
 
 "Kate Moore." 
 
 "Desires the pleasure of bidding me good-bye, eh? A 
 rather ambiguous expression, Miss Kate. However, I will 
 gratify you." Snatching up a pen, he replied : 
 
 "Miss Kate Moore, 
 " Dear Miss, 
 
 " Your note of this morning is to hand. If I can find 
 time, on my way to Cape Charles, I shall be pleased to call 
 to-morrow as I pass yoMX gate with my regiment, which will 
 probably be about one o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 " Wishing you health and happiness, 
 
 " I am truly yours, 
 "Thomas Burton." 
 
 If any one had asked Kate Moore what her object was in 
 writing this note to the man she had so often treated with 
 the coldest indifference, she would, in all probability, have 
 answered with even less perspicuity than she wrote. 
 
 But from the time that she heard the tap of the drum, and 
 saw the glittering bayonets of the soldiers as they filed down 
 the old highway, till the handsome form of the Union officer 
 appeared, galloping up the lane toward the house, her heart 
 had seemed to wake up from its long slumber, and the slug- 
 gish tide of life to course her veins as in the bright days of 
 yore, ere the blight of misfortune had dried up its fountains, 
 as she had thought, forever. 
 
 " I wanted to see you, Colonel Burton, now that you are 
 going to leave us, to tell you how grateful I am to you for 
 all the favors you have shown me, and all the trouble you 
 have been put to on my account. I do this from a sense of 
 duty I cannot well put aside. You are going to the front, I 
 hear, and as I may never have the pleasure of seeing you 
 again, I wanted to say good-bye." 
 
 Colonel Burton had never heard her speak in such a 
 natural, familiar tone before. For once there was no irony 
 or bitterness. 
 
 " You are very kind. Miss Kate, to give me this oppor- 
 tunity. I had determined, at our last interview, not to see 
 you again." 
 
 ^^ Well; I have learned. Colon ei Burton, to be less cousist* 
 
220 TOM BURTON. 
 
 ent than I used to be; at least, what I used to call consist- 
 ency. I suppose you would call it prejudice. In other words, 
 I have at last accustomed myself to put up with vicissitudes. 
 Indeed I have become reconciled myself to what you call pro- 
 gress. When one can not have things one's own way, one 
 might as well give in ; so, Colonel, had you stayed awa}^, I 
 should begin to think you had become as set in your ways as 
 you once thought I was." 
 
 " I am glad to hear from jowx own lips such an honest con- 
 fession. I think, in such a frame of mind, there is yet hope 
 for a happy future. Our wealth does not consist so much in 
 the things which we possess, as in the capacity of the heart 
 to store up true and lasting affection, and a disposition to 
 make the best of everything. Yes, !Miss Kate, I am on my 
 way to the front. I cannot bear this inert life on the East- 
 ern Shore, with little to hope for by way of promotion, and 
 less to love." 
 
 " No one. Colonel, can appreciate your condition more than 
 I. I have thought much of you since the loss of your dear 
 sister, knowing that she was the last of your family except 
 yourself. Will you return to the Eastern Shore after the 
 war ? " 
 
 " That is a hard question to answer. I have few friends 
 here, and very little to bind me to the place of my birth. I 
 may not be spared to return. Of one thing I am sure, there 
 are none left to mourn my death should I fall." 
 
 "I think you do yourself injustice, colonel. Your man- 
 agement of affairs has won you man^^ friends. I think we 
 often change our opinion of people when we have known them 
 better." 
 
 "Yes ; I think that is the case, and if people are less pre- 
 judiced against me, I am glad of it," the colonel replied, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 Erom ordinary topics of conversation, they both became 
 gradually less talkative, until the interview assumed a serious 
 and almost painful aspect. 
 
 Suddenly, and seemingly without any special object in 
 view, the officer inquired, with a peculiarly quizzical smile : 
 
 " Do you hear anything, now-a-days. Miss Kate, from across 
 the water ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, Colonel, except by way of rumor. Why 
 do you ask ? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing." 
 
 "How could I, since you have broken up the blockade busi- 
 ness,"' she "replied, with a smile. 
 
 "But love, you know, laughs at difficulties, and has wings 
 
TOM BURTON. 221 
 
 like a dove. Surely I could put no barrier that could balk 
 Cupid's flight." 
 
 " Love ! Alas, Colonel, like all my other earthly prospects 
 (if it is to my case you refer), that also has turned into ashes. 
 I am alone in the world.'^ The sadness which accompanied 
 the last remark was touching. 
 
 " Our cases, Miss Kate, are similar in that respect. My 
 prosperity and your adversity, however antipodal, have cul- 
 minated in the same result, namely, poverty of the heart, 
 which to my mind, is the worst of all calamities, and you and 
 I meet at last upon the same common ground. Will you 
 permit me to ask you," he continued, rising and advancing 
 to her chair, " if you now consider me your equal ? " 
 
 The color in Miss Burton's face rose like a flood tide on 
 the full of the moon. 
 
 " I consider myself beneath even the negroes in point of 
 property and social condition. Xo one respects us when we 
 are poor." 
 
 " Will you accept my friendship in good faith ? " 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Will you not give me a categorical answer to-day ? " 
 " Will you kindly allow me to reply at the end of the war ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " And then to refuse to entertain my proposition if your 
 side wins ? Do you think that is fair ? " 
 
 "I think you wrong me by jumping at such a conclusion. 
 The fact is, Colonel, I'm in no condition now to accept or re- 
 fuse your kind offer. This, however, I will promise you, and 
 more I cannot. I will allow no one to rise to a higher position 
 in my friendship than that which you hold, until I see you 
 again," and as she said this her eye-lids drooped and she 
 looked steadily at the carpet. 
 
 " I thank you for that much, noblest of women," replied 
 the Colonel, fervently grasping her hand. " So let it rest 
 until we meet again. Meanwhile, as you have suffered much 
 on account of these troublous times, and have erstwhile held 
 me somewhat to blame as being in an indirect manner the 
 cause, I have had my will written, and in case I am slain, 
 Moorefield is yours," and as he spoke he drew from his 
 pocket a paper folded like a legal document. 
 " But, Colonel Burton, I cannot accept — " 
 " Say no more," he interrupted, " for you have not time. 
 The left wing of my battalion has already passed the gate, 
 and I must go." 
 
 As she rose the paper which he had laid on her lap fell to 
 the floor, 
 
222 TOM BURTON. 
 
 He pressed her hand to his lips, bowed and left the room. 
 
 Kate watched him galloping off down the lawn towards the 
 gate. 
 
 Once before in her life she had experienced similar feelings. 
 But the first time all was despair. Then the coming events 
 of her near future seemed to cast their shadows before ; but 
 now it appeared to her that the night was far spent, and the 
 day was at hand. There was nothing visible to warrant 
 such a conclusion ; but her intuition looking far ahead saw 
 the glimpses of the dawn, and from that day forth she was a 
 new creature. She picked up the will, and saw that it was 
 even as he had said ; and that day as she went to her menial 
 duties, the family heard her humming an old love song. 
 Human nature is so full of elasticity when youth and health 
 are there, to respond to the touch of hope ! 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel Burton rejoined his regiment, marched 
 to Cape Charles, and was from thence transported to Fortress 
 Monroe. 
 
 Here had crossed Claude with the old man and Sammy, 
 and afterwards the Little Sister — all in five short months. 
 
 The first of these was now awaiting his doom in the city 
 jail, Sammy was sleeping in the vault in the Catholic ceme- 
 tery, at the rural-looking gate of which the old man sat day 
 by day, waiting for the war to end so he might take his body 
 home; the Little Sister, foiled and disappointed, but not 
 despairing, was devising ways and means at St. Vincent de 
 Paul to save the life of her ill-starred friend ; and all the 
 while the beautiful days of flowery May were gliding by like 
 a busy shuttle weaving the woof of the history of a wonderful 
 epoch. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 There is in all animal life a principle which is instinctively 
 antagonistic to death, and yields to,the grim monster only 
 when its last citadel is stormed and demolished. So was the 
 Little Sister's courage and hope. Though denied even the 
 privilege of seeing the object of her solicitude, or even of 
 communicating with him by letter, she had never yet de- 
 spaired of the ultimate favorable answer to her prayers in his 
 behalf. 
 
703/ BURTOX. 223 
 
 Night after night she paced the narrow confines of her 
 little room, wringing her hands, and saying to herself, " He 
 must not die. lie is innocent, I know ; the victim of some 
 base conspiracy. He shall not die. God in Heaven help me 
 to save him ! " 
 
 She had importuned the ^Confederate commander. She had 
 supplicated tlie Secretary of War. She had even knelt before 
 the President. All these had turned a deaf ear to her plead- 
 ings, and now she was thrown back upon her own weak 
 resources, and her simple faith in Divine assistance. The 
 fertile brain of Sister Irene was also exhausted in regard to 
 expedients, and the time was short. Still the Little Sister 
 hoped on with an unconquerable heroism. 
 
 The two girls had not neglected to seek the old blockader, 
 and enlist his services. His sympathies had already been 
 enlisted. The little pique which he had held against Claude 
 was forgotten in his own burden of sorrow, and Claude's mis- 
 erable condition. 
 
 " It is werry misfortionable," he would say. " It are werry 
 nateral he should be led astray by that ar Buttercup. She war 
 well kalkerlated to dumbfuzzel'the best on us, and he war 
 young and pashernate. I b'lieve he are as innercent as a babe 
 unborn, Sistern, and ef we uns could jest save him it would be 
 a good deed ; but its werry misfortionable, Sistern, werry mis- 
 fortionable. Ef I could once git him into my cunner, I 
 mought soon hev him outen all danger. How many more 
 days, Sistern, 'fore he's to be shot ? " 
 
 " Only one more. Captain, only one more," was the little 
 Sister's sorrowful ejaculation. The long, deep-drawn sigh of 
 the old man, as he again repeated : '• It are all werry mis- 
 fortionable, werry misfortionable," expressed a hopelessness 
 which seemed at last to touch the heart of the brave little 
 girl with a tinge of despair, for tears gathered in her eyes in 
 spite of her efforts to repress them. 
 
 Yes, it was the 9th of May. The busy marts of the old 
 town were redolent of strawberries, and fragrant with the 
 odor of roses. The sun shone as brightly, the birds sang as 
 joyously, and the sweet air was as balmy as it is this very 
 day we are writing of those stirring times. But what is 
 this wild cry we hear in the streets, vainly attempted to be 
 suppressed by the authorities ? What means the terror- 
 stricken faces, the blanched cheeks, the awful forebodings 
 apparent in the countenances of every one you meet ? 
 
 A startling rumor has reached the city that the Yankees 
 are landing on the beach below Se wall's Point in great 
 force, and are marching upon the city. 
 
224 TOM BlfRTOl^. 
 
 In a moment all is confusion ; terror reigns. Men, women 
 and children flock into the streets, run here and there, 
 wringing their hands, asking questions, vainly looking for 
 some place of safety. 
 
 To add to the already indescribable state of affairs, it is 
 reported that the Confederates are evacuating the city, and 
 will burn it down during the coming night. 
 
 From lip to lip these harrowing reports are circulated, un- 
 til the whole town trembles with excitement, as with an 
 earthquake. 
 
 As evening comes on there is no abatement of the dreadful 
 commotion. The alarm increases with the shadows of even- 
 ing, and the ever accumulating confirmation of the approach 
 of the enemy. 
 
 Suddenly, a furious flame leaps up from the navy j'ard, and 
 every one imagines the whole city to be on fire. From this 
 time pandemonium is let loose. E-egiments of infantry hurry 
 through the streets. 
 
 They play no music, now. We only hear the quick tramp, 
 tramp, tramp, as they pass by, going toward the river, where 
 they cross the ferry, or some of the bridges, toward Ports- 
 mouth. 
 
 Artillery wagons thunder over the cobble-stones, the snap 
 of the driver's lash echoing above the din. 
 
 The frightened citizens, with as much of their personal ef- 
 fects as they can carry, rush madly after the troops. 
 
 The negroes are struck dumb with wonder, not knowing 
 whether to obey their masters or no ; children scream with 
 terror. 
 
 It was Claude's last day, and the night the little Sister 
 had set to rescue him. 
 
 What would they do, now ? — murder him in his cell, take 
 him with them, or forget him in the tumult ? She could not 
 tell which. 
 
 " Live or die," she exclaimed. ^' I will find him this night, 
 or perish in the attempt ! " 
 
 Sister Irene, only, knew of her intention. With the bene- 
 diction and kisses of that staunch friend, the little nun went 
 tremblingly out into that terrible night on her perilous 
 mission, to breast the tide of a raving mob, infuriated and 
 reckless, with only the simple faith born of a pure devotion 
 for the man she loved, to protect and guide her. 
 
 Once outside of the hospital, there was no longer any pro- 
 tection, but, urged forward by the thought that even now 
 they might be strangling him in his cell, she pushed her way 
 
TOM BUUTON. 225 
 
 through the surging, flying masses of negroes, soldiers, and 
 citizens, toward the jail. 
 
 Not daring to venture down Church Street, the main thor- 
 oughfare of the city, through which the soldiers from the 
 entrenched camp and other outposts were pouring, she ran 
 down Fenchurch to Cove Street, a distance of a quarter of a 
 mile, without difficulty or molestation. But the end of her 
 destination lay in a westerly direction, and she must either 
 cross Church Street at Cove, or else proceed to Main at its in- 
 tersection with Fenchurch, which would be much more diffi- 
 cult to cross, on account of the converging currents of rush- 
 ing humanity which were uniting at that point. 
 
 Guided by her quick, womanly instinct, she chose the 
 former. 
 
 Here, just in front of old St. Paul's, she was forced to stop, 
 so great was the crowd on the sidewalk, while in the middle 
 of the street an unbroken line of military, in close column, 
 pressed southward toward the river. 
 
 Balked in her undertaking, she stood on the curb, and bit 
 her lips till they bled. 
 
 ^' What does you want, my Little Sister, and why in the 
 name of God are you out in sich a night as this ? " said a tall, 
 rough-looking man who was standing at her side, whose 
 voice she readily recognized as that of Captain Evans. 
 " Gineral Jackson and Pocahontas ! you is in a werry bad pre- 
 dicament, in this hubbub, my little one." 
 
 " Please, sir, take me up in your arms, and lift me over to 
 the other side. I am on an errand of the utmost importance, 
 and must not be delayed." 
 
 "That I will, my little Daisy, now, look out for your big 
 bonnet, and cling fast to my neck. This is a right smart 
 stream ter cross," so saying, he wrapped the nun's blue robe 
 around her and catching her up in his stalwart embrace bore 
 her safely through files of glittering bayonets to the other 
 side. 
 
 "Now, run, little un, as fast as you ken. It's gittin' 
 werry dark and deCngerous fer even a Sister to be about ; and 
 these niggers is none too good to resault you, you pretty 
 little thing, you." 
 
 But she did not hear the last words of the kind old man. 
 She was gone like a flash, disappearing in the darkness of 
 Cove Street, always black and dingy, but blacker to-night 
 than ever. 
 
 Even here, her course was obstructed by flying people, 
 mostly negroes, who not only interfered with her locomotion, 
 
226 TOM BURTON, 
 
 but more than once ran over her, trampling her beneath their 
 feet. But, springing to her pins as rapidly as possible, she 
 groped her way in the almost impenetrable gloom, through 
 crowded street, and noisome alley, until she stood in front 
 of the old jail, her clothing torn, and her little heart flutter- 
 ing with the combined excitement of fear and exertion. 
 
 In the meantime, Claude had been preparing to die. The 
 prison being situated in a somewhat secluded part of the 
 city, he had heard but little of the bustle going on outside, 
 attributing what he did hear to preparations incident to his 
 execution. 
 
 He had determined to meet his fate like a brave man, and 
 sat that evening in his cell, with no more sign of trepidation, 
 than if he was only to take a short and ordinary journey on 
 the morrow. 
 
 He had faithfully prepared what he termed his confession ; 
 he had made his peace with his Maker and his own con- 
 science, and was ready to be offered up. 
 
 Once more, since many months, he felt his old manhood 
 come back to him. It was, in fact, a manhood far superior 
 to his former one — a reconstructed character, built upon the 
 ruins of false ideas, and a false education — a condition forced 
 upon him by antecedents and precedents, as old and as obso- 
 lete as the laws of Moses. Now, he realized the ennobling 
 fact that he was himself, and that he stood upon a founda- 
 tion of truth, and not blood ; upon a nobility of soul, and not 
 a vain and empty idea of chivalry. His sense of honor, and 
 his estimate of virtue, were all changed now ; and if he had 
 his life to live over again, he would do right irrespective of 
 tradition, and uninfluenced by anything the world might say 
 in condemnation of his course, whatever it might be. 
 
 As the hour of his dissolution approached, he seemed to 
 gain physical strength. He was hungry, and could not tell 
 why they did not bring his supper as usual. 
 
 His eye sparkled with its old lustre. He again looked as 
 young and fresh as he did on that day at Burton's Meeting- 
 house, when he would have dragged the poor preacher down 
 into the woods, and tarred and feathered him. But he 
 would not do that now. No ; he was a changed man. He 
 had drunk to the dregs the cup which had been proffered 
 him at his birth, the legacy of a noble but mistaken ancestry ; 
 he had awakened from the deleterious effects of its potent 
 poison, to find himself a wretch undone ; but now the scales 
 had fallen from his eyes, the true light of God's grace had 
 shone into his heart, and permeated his inner being ; and 
 just as he was willing to die, he was ready to live. 
 
TOM BURTON, 227 
 
 As the shades of night came down over the antiquated 
 city, enveloping the old jail in its customary dreariness, 
 strange sounds, increasing more and more in violence, be- 
 gan to assail the ear of the condemned prisoner. 
 
 There was something going on outside the dull walls of 
 his dungeon, both unusual and alarming. The sound of 
 hurrying footsteps, which at first, was desultory and infre- 
 quent, grew in violence, until he imagined the whole city 
 was on the street, and flying as if from a fearful conflagra- 
 tion. From his little window he could catch a glimpse of 
 the passing crowd hurrying by, and see the glare of burning 
 barracks illuminating the sky. 
 
 Then came the shrieks of the dismayed, and the curses 
 of the lawless ; the negro convicts in the lower cells of the 
 prison taking up the strain, and yelling back their demon- 
 iacal shouts in chorus. 
 
 The blood of the condemned man ran cold at the fearful 
 thought of some awful calamity, which these disturbances 
 seemed to portend, and he lost sight of his own impending 
 fate, in the uncertainty and horror of that which had come 
 upon the city. 
 
 " They are coming ! They are coming ! '^ were all the 
 words he could catch from the outside, while " Glory to 
 God ! " and " hallelujah !^' was the sacrilegious refrain which 
 rocked the damp walls of the old prison, yelled out by at 
 least a score of drunken negroes, and low-down white crim- 
 inals, who had been arrested that day, and were taking ad- 
 vantage of the perturbed condition of their keepers to make 
 disorder and confusion. 
 
 Then, above the roar which arose from the groaning 
 streets, like that of the distant surf, came awful explosions, 
 preceded by vivid flashes of lightning, and the earth rocked 
 as if in the throes of an earthquake. 
 
 Claude stood appalled in the middle of his cell, wondering 
 what it all meant, when the sound of heavy feet tramping 
 up the stairs to his door, the dragging of sabres over the 
 steps, and then the jingling of keys and the rattling . of 
 bolts assured him that the privacy of his abode was about to 
 be invaded. 
 
 Presently there seemed to be an altercation in the corridor 
 and he heard a female voice saying : 
 
 " But you will let me go in. I am a Sister of Charity, and 
 the only friend he has in the world.'' 
 
 He heard the ponderous clasp swing from its staple, and 
 as a desperate encounter broke out below, and the soldiers at 
 
228 TOM BURTOir. 
 
 the door ran pell-mell down stairs, tumbling over each 
 other in the darkness, a slight figure in a nun's cornet and 
 habit, crept into the dark room, and stood before him. 
 
 " AVho are you ? " he inquired as he peered at the dim out- 
 lines of the Little Sister. 
 
 " I'm a nun. But for Heaven's sake tarry not to ask ques- 
 tions. Now is your only chance of escape. They are going 
 to take you away with them, and wdll shoot j^ou to-morrow. 
 Quick, put on this robe. Let me lie this surplice about your 
 face to hide your beard. This cornet will fit you better since 
 your hair is thin. Quick, and fly for your life before they 
 return. It's your last opportunity." 
 
 Claude was bewildered and stood like a statue not know- 
 ing what to do or say. 
 
 '' Oh, my dear friend, how can you be so irresolute when 
 your very life depends upon immediate action. Will you let 
 me see you perish after all I have done to save you ? Must 
 all my efforts and sacrifices go for nothing ? Oh, Claude, 
 my soul's hero, my life's dream, fly, if not for your own sake, 
 for the sake of Mary Burton, who once more has come to save 
 you ? " 
 
 " And from you^ darling ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. We may meet again. But if you stay, there 
 is no hope." 
 
 The commotion grew more boisterous below, 
 
 " And where must I go ? " 
 
 " To Richmond. To the Peninsula !" 
 
 " Back to the Confederate army ? " 
 
 " By all means. Go, redeem yourself, and whether you 
 win or lose it will all be well. You can regain respect by no 
 other road." 
 
 " But my heart is not in it. I can never raise my hand 
 against my country's flag again." 
 
 " Be guided this once by me. So far you are innocent of 
 crime. You must not be a renegade. There are thousands 
 who have thought from the beginning as you think now ;but 
 fate cast their lot on the wrong side, and they but follow in 
 the line of their duty by sacrificing everything — even con- 
 science, to be with their countrymen. We must not argue 
 here. If you love me, heed my advice, and when the strife 
 is over and you come back, you shall find a sweet haven of 
 rest." 
 
 The tumult without was appalling. 
 
 Claude was stupefied. The incomprehensible commotion 
 on the street, the fearful explosion of magazines, rocking 
 
TOM BURTON. 229 
 
 the prison like an earthquake, the demoniacal struggle below, 
 and the new ideas awakened in his mind so suddenly by the 
 rapid and almost hysterical words and demeanor of the little 
 woman so wrought upon him that he mechanically assisted her 
 in her nervous efforts to array him, and scarcely knowing what 
 he did, suffered himself to be led to the door, and pushed out 
 into the corridor. 
 
 Mary staggered back into the darkness of the cell, and the 
 heavy iron door was swung to by some one on the outside 
 and locked. 
 
 Unable longer to bear up under the severe tension to which 
 her delicate nerves had been subjected, the brave little nun 
 sank down in a corner of the loathsome den in a deep swoon, 
 from which she did not fully recover until long after midnight. 
 When she did come to herself all was quiet as death in 
 the prison ; and over the desolate city there rested the 
 silence of the grave. 
 
 A bright May morning dawned. 
 
 Pearly drops of dew clung to the iron bars of the little 
 window, sparkling like diamonds in the first rays of the 
 rising sun. 
 
 Mary arose and looked out on the street. She saw only 
 negroes. They were running toward Church Street with all 
 their might. The expression of their faces was that of con- 
 sternation mingled with joy. She listened. Far away on 
 the morning air floated strains of martial music. A hun- 
 dred bands seemed to be pouring forth the lively melody. 
 Again she listened. They played " Yankee Doodle." It was 
 General Wool marching into the city. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 all's well that ends well. 
 
 A delegation of the citizens headed by the mayor, went 
 out to meet the Federal commander at the entrenched camp, 
 and delivered the city into his hands. Thereupon the Fed- 
 eral troops marched in and took possession, in the midst of 
 salvos of cannon, the playing of bands, and the rejoicing of 
 negroes. The outposts of the Confederates had been drawn 
 in the day before, their heavy artillery either spiked or re- 
 moved to the Portsmouth side of the river, and on the night 
 of the 9th they withdrew entirely from the north side of the 
 
230 ' TOM BURTON. 
 
 Elizabeth, crossed the Western Branch and made their way 
 toward Eichmond on the south side of the James, by the 
 way of Petersburg. 
 
 The " Merrimac," still disabled from her encounter with 
 the " Monitor," lay down by Crany Island, where she was 
 blown up on the night of the 11th. 
 
 Colonel Burton reached Fortress Monroe just in time to 
 join the expedition against Norfolk. 
 
 He rode into the town at the head of his regiment with 
 the familiarity of one who was perfectly well acquainted with 
 its streets. 
 
 The usual precautions to prevent surprise were taken by 
 the commanding general, pickets thrown out on the Ports- 
 mouth side and defenses begun as far south as Getty's Station 
 in Norfolk County ; and in a short while every thing assumed 
 a peaceful aspect. 
 
 But leaving the results of this bloodless, but no less import- 
 ant victory of the Federals, to speak for themselves, let us in 
 the short space which is left us proceed to notice that which 
 most directly concerns the well known individuals with whom 
 we have been so familiar, during the perusal of this particular 
 history. 
 
 Undismayed by her recent troubles, and now set at liberty 
 by the advent of her new friends, the Federals, Miss But- 
 tercup, with a conscience as easy as ever a woman's could be, 
 at once set up her court and laid her plans to bring into sub- 
 jection as many, if not more, admirers in blue, as she had 
 ruined, lost and discarded with empty pockets, in gray. 
 
 Half of the first day after the evacuation had not passed, 
 ere she was seen riding through the streets of Norfolk, on 
 horseback, in the company of several officers of the new re- 
 gime. While thus employed, the party met Colonel Burton, 
 who was himself mounted, as he was riding from the newly 
 established head-quarters, at the custom house, up Main Street. 
 As he approached the party, he recognized Miss Buttercup 
 as an old acquaintance and saluted her. For a moment the 
 olive complexion of the dashing equestrienne assumed a crim- 
 son hue, and for once she showed some evidence of confusion ; 
 but recovering her self-possession in a moment, reined up her 
 horse, and entered into conversation with that officer. She 
 was very flippant in her remarks, treating the colonel with a 
 sort of indififerent familiarity, while he returned her obtrus- 
 iveness with a taciturnity that seemed to vex her. 
 
 *^By the by, Colonel," she remarked, "we have enjoyed 
 quite an episode in our beleaguered city for the past few 
 
TOM BURTON. L>31 
 
 Tiioiitlis, ill which your humble servant was an unwilling and 
 rather conspicuous figure." 
 
 ^^ How so ? " inquired Colonel Burton rather nonchalantly. 
 
 " Why you see, that I being one of those unfortunate in- 
 dividuals who sided with the Union cause, have been subject 
 to persecution, and through the perfidy of a gentleman of your 
 own county was imprisoned and have only this very day re- 
 gained my freedom." 
 
 " Indeed ! What was the trouble, and of whom do you 
 speak as belonging to my county ? '' 
 
 " Did you know a man by the name of Claude Walsingham 
 — a captain of cavalry in the rebel army ? " 
 
 "I did. What of him?" 
 
 " He was to have been shot this very day. Whether or not 
 he is yet in jail, I do not know." 
 
 " Shot, and to-day ! Pray what was the charge ? " 
 
 " Treason, my dear Colonel. He was caught communicat- 
 ing with your people at Fortress Monroe, and sentenced, as 
 I said, to death. This morning was the day of his doom." 
 
 *' Impossible ! I do not believe him guilty of any such of- 
 fense. If what you tell me is true, there is some treachery," 
 and Colonel Burton flashed a look of suspicion at the impress- 
 able woman which sent the blood again to her temples. 
 
 " But where did you say he was confined ? " he inquired. 
 
 " In the city jail. It may be that they took him with them 
 last night." 
 
 " I shall see at once. Please excuse me, gentlemen," he 
 said, and rode away without further ceremony. 
 
 Meanwhile there was great excitement at the hospital of 
 St. Vincent de Paul. The Little Sister had been missed and 
 the whole Sisterhood was in the utmost consternation in re- 
 gard to her disappearance. Sister Irene, not knowing the re- 
 sult of her friend's mission, was reticent, only volunteering 
 her services as one who was willing to go out and search for 
 her. 
 
 The aid of Captain Evans was solicited, and he and Sister 
 Irene set out about midday for the jail. The streets were 
 entirely divested of white citizens, but overrunning with Yan- 
 kee soldiers and negroes. The former were insolent, and the 
 latter saucy, and once or twice the old man came very near 
 being arrested, and once he actually knocked a negro down 
 for "standing in his way; but they finally reached the jail in 
 safety. They found the doors wide open and all the lower 
 cells deserted. The prisoners had either escaped, or had been 
 liberated. They ascended the stairs and finding the door of 
 Claude's cell shut and fastened, they knocked. 
 
232 TOM BURTON. 
 
 The Little Sister answered. 
 
 " She ar in thar as shure's my name's Kevel Evans," ex- 
 claimed the old man. 
 
 "Is it you, my Little Sister?" called out Sister Irene. 
 
 "Yes, my darling," replied the prisoner, recognizing the 
 voice of her friend. 
 
 The door had been locked by a passing turnkey, immedi- 
 ately'- after the escape of Claude. 
 
 " Are you alone, Sister ? " 
 
 " Yes. Pray relieve me as soon as possible, if in your 
 power ; I am very hungry." 
 
 " That I will, jest as yearly as I kin git a hammer and 
 chisel," replied the old man, as he hastened down the stair- 
 way in quest of the tools he had mentioned. 
 
 He was not long in procuring these, and the work of prying 
 out the staple, to one so accustomed to the use of such tools 
 as Captain Evans, was a matter of only a moment. As the 
 door swung open, the two girls rushed into each other's 
 arms. 
 
 "And the Captain ? " inquired Sister Irene. 
 
 "Is safe, I hope." 
 
 " Thank God ! Now we have found you, all is well." 
 
 Captain Evans regarded the happy meeting of the two 
 nuns with feelings of great gratification, remarking : 
 
 "This are one of the happiest repochs of my resistance. 
 I feel as ef I war ev some sarvice arter all." 
 
 Scarcely had the greeting subsided, when Colonel Burton 
 rode up to the jail, alighted at the door, and, tying his horse 
 to the court-house fence, mounted the steps. Hearing the 
 sound of voices upstairs he ascended. 
 
 Even before he reached the corridor, he was shocked at the 
 sound of familiar voices. His limbs almost refused to obey 
 his irresolute will, so paralyzed was he at the thought of the 
 revelations which awaited him. 
 
 He tried to reach the corridor at a single bound, but hia 
 unguided foot slipped, and he imagined he would die before 
 he reached the top. The flight of steps was not high, hoW' 
 ever, and really before he could realize it, he was at tha 
 door, just as the happy trio were preparing to decamp. 
 
 One glance at the little nun was sufficient. 
 
 "Mary, my darling, darling sister ! " 
 
 " My brother ! " 
 
 " Which ter make a good picter, you and me orter do likC' 
 wise," ventured the old man, with a nod at Sister Irene. 
 
 But the countenance of that woman was a study for an 
 
TOM BURTON. 233 
 
 artist. For a moment she gazed at the face of the handsome 
 officer, and her own assumed the pallidity of death. 
 
 She reeled to the wall, and supported herself against it. 
 
 From where she stood, with her eyes now averted from 
 the embracing brother and sister, she could look down the 
 corridor through the wide-open door. 
 
 Suddenly she seemed to recover her equanimity ; then as 
 suddenly, quivered from head to feet with intense excite- 
 ment. With a heart-rending shriek, which startled the 
 little group, and echoed through the empty prison, she 
 sprang forward, and extending her arms, clutched the tall 
 officer frantically around the neck. A short, sharp report, 
 not louder than the pop of an air-gun followed, and the poor 
 girl muttering : " That horrid woman ! " slid lifeless to the 
 floor, before Colonel Burton could catch her in his arms. 
 
 She fell on her face, and from a small hole not bigger than 
 a pea, under the scapula, a little to the left of the spine, 
 there oozed a few drops of blood which stained slightly the 
 blue habit she wore. 
 
 " My God, what is this ! " exclaimed Colonel Burton, as he 
 stooped and raised the limp form, supporting the head of 
 the now ghastly nun, on his bent knee. 
 
 As he gazed into the pale face, paler than the white cor- 
 net, the eyes opened, blazed wistfully into his own for a 
 second, and as a sweet smile played about the parting lips, 
 and her chin quivered just a little, the hands fell to the floor, 
 the eyelids drooped half closed, and with a sigh the spirit of 
 the beautiful Sister fled away. 
 
 " She is dead ! she is dead ! '^ shrieked Mary. 
 
 " And to save me ! " groaned Colonel Burton, as he trem- 
 blingly raised the left hand and singling out the third finger 
 fondled the ring she wore. 
 
 " It war a werry misfortionable circumstance,'' remarked 
 Captain Evans, in a husky voice. " S'pozen I retempt to 
 overhaul the one who did it ? " 
 
 " Go, sir, for God's sake, quick," replied the officer. 
 
 But the assassin had disappeared. 
 
 The Colonel's horse was gone, the street deserted, and only 
 the form of a dashing female rider could be seen turning into 
 Granby street, beyond the court-house lawn. 
 
 And, now, reader, we come to that turn in our little history 
 where after a few more words by way of conclusion, we must 
 part. 
 
 With the closing of Sister Irene's eyes, all evidence of 
 her roi^rderer vanished. 
 
234 TOM BURTON, 
 
 Enough c6uld be surmised, however, to make sure that the 
 bullet which pierced her heart was intended for Colonel 
 Burton, and was fired by a woman. To shield her old friend 
 the devoted nun had sacrificed her own life. 
 
 During the obsequies, Colonel Burton remained at the hos- 
 pital, and when he departed from Norfolk with orders to join 
 McClellan on the Peninsula, he left Mary in the care of the 
 good Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul. 
 
 Communication being opened up between Norfolk and the 
 Eastern Shore, Captain Evans watched his chances for a good 
 run, and in the old " cunner," with green cedar boughs for 
 a canopy, he silently and alone transported the remains of 
 Sammy to their last resting-place in his mother's garden. 
 
 It was again the 10th of May, now 1865. 
 
 The war was over. Colonel Burton, who had retired a year 
 before with a wound received in the battle of the Wilderness, 
 from which, thanks to a gentle nurse, in the person of Miss 
 Kate Moore, now Mrs. Colonel Burton, he was entirely re- 
 covered, was sitting on the piazza of his new residence at 
 Moorefield, his wife and sister beside him. 
 
 Around his beautiful residence, fresh w^ith paint and bloom- 
 ing with every comfort, stretched on every side green fields of 
 growing grain. 
 
 Old Daniel, again a widower, sat on the porch steps, bent 
 with years^ but only waiting a nod to do " 'Mars Burton's" 
 bidding. Captain Evans in his shirt-sleeves, chewed his 
 quid with his accustomed gusto, and told stories of blockade 
 running. 
 
 Daniel had said that a boat was coming up the creek be- 
 hind the thicket, but no one had paid any attention to so 
 commonplace an event. 
 
 Suddenly the barking of the dogs in the back-yard, called 
 the attention of the little group in the porch to that direc- 
 tion, and they see a man approaching, supporting himself on 
 crutches. 
 
 His suit, which had once been gray, and was that of a pri- 
 vate in the Confederate army, is the color of the ground. 
 His jacket is tattered and torn, his straw hat out at the 
 crown, and his coarse brogans literally tied to his feet. A 
 thick auburn beard covers the lower part of his face, and long 
 locks of brown hair fall to his shoulders. His face is pale 
 and emaciated, but his eye is bright and blue, and though 
 his left leg is stiff and useless, he still seems to possess a 
 goodly amount of physical strength. As be approaches the 
 
TOM BURTON. 23.5 
 
 stoop, Colonel Burton rises to give him a kindly greeting. 
 The ladies also full of sympathy for a wounded soldier re- 
 turning to his old home, bearing in his body the evidence of 
 an unhappy but honorable service, prepare themselves to 
 offer him a hearty reception. 
 
 But Love's quickening instincts are ever on the alert. 
 
 With a thrilling cry of joy Mary Burton runs down the 
 steps, and trembling like a frightened bird, nestles her head 
 in the bosom of Claude Walsingham. 
 
 THE END. 
 
0^ 
 
 ^^t 
 
 if^^ 
 
 IBl 
 
 
 jiK^ 
 
■^^ 
 
 
 
 'h.-^i- 
 
 mM^:^ 
 
 '■§t^^W'^^^^^ 
 
 >i^^!# 
 
 RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 709