Doctor Hopkins was summoned. The old Doctor was thunderstruck when he heard the news. He could scarcely believe it. To add to the mystery, Calhoun"s Confederate uniform was found. Apparently he had gone away with only his night clothes on. Doctor Hopkins at once gave it as his opinion that Calhoun had been seized with a sudden delirium and had stolen out of the house and wandered away; no doubt the body would be found somewhere.
His professional services were needed in the care of Joyce, for she seemed to be completely prostrated, and had a high fever.
"Poor girl," said the Doctor, "the excitement has been too much for her."
If he suspected anything he kept his secret well.
The spy employed by Andrew Harmon reported that he had not seen or heard anything suspicious during the night, so that gentleman concluded to say nothing, as he did not wish it to be known that he had had the house secretly watched.
Mr. Crawford returned the day after the escape. He was greatly exercised over what had happened, and blamed every one that Calhoun had been kept so long as he had. Poor Joyce came in for her share, but she wisely held her peace. The country was scoured for miles around, but nothing was seen or heard of the escaped prisoner, and at last the excitement died out.
Joyce did not lack news from Calhoun. The faithful Abe kept her fully informed. Joyce told him that both of them would go to prison if it was known what they had done, and he kept the secret well. He reported that Calhoun was gaining rapidly, and would soon be able to go his way. "He want to see yo" awful bad befo" he goes," said Abe.
But Joyce resolutely refused. It would not do either of them any good. One day the negro brought her a letter. It was from Calhoun, telling her that when she received it he would be gone. He thought it cruel that she had not come to see him just once. He closed as follows:
"Joyce, I feel that my life is yours, for you saved it. Not only that, but to you I now owe my liberty, and I realize the struggle you have had to do as you have done. But be of good cheer. When the war is over the thunder of the last cannon will hardly have died away before I shall be at your side. Till then adieu."
That letter was very precious to Joyce. Before the war was over it was nearly worn out by being read and reread.
Shortly after Mr. Crawford"s return he was asked by Andrew Harmon for permission to pay his addresses to his daughter. Harmon hoped that if he had her father"s permission to pay his addresses to her, Joyce"s coldness might disappear.
Mr. Crawford did not like the man, but he was rich and had a certain amount of political influence. Mr. Crawford was thinking of being a candidate for Congress at the approaching election, and he did not wish to offend Harmon, but he secretly hoped that Joyce would refuse him; in this he was not disappointed. She was indignant that her father had listened to Harmon, even to the extent that he had. "Why, father, I have heard you call him cowardly and dishonest," she exclaimed, "and to think that you told him you would leave it entirely to me."
"I did not wish to offend him," meekly replied Mr. Crawford, "and I had confidence in your judgment. I was almost certain you would refuse him."
"Will you always have such confidence in my judgment?" asked Joyce, quickly.
"What do you mean?" asked her father.
"Suppose I should wish to marry one of whom you did not approve?"
"That is another proposition," said Mr. Crawford. "You might have been so foolish as to fall in love with that Morgan Rebel and horse-thief you took care of so long. If so, I had rather see you dead than married to him."
Poor Joyce! Did her father suspect anything? She caught her breath, and came near falling. Quickly recovering herself, she answered. "At least he was a brave man. But everybody says he is dead, and mortals do not wed ghosts."
"It is to be sincerely hoped he is dead," replied Mr. Crawford, for he had noticed his daughter"s confusion, and an uneasiness took possession of him. But much to Joyce"s relief he did not question her further.
Andrew Harmon was beside himself with rage when told by Mr. Crawford that, while his daughter was sensible of the great honor he would bestow upon her, she was still very young, and had no idea of marrying any one at present.
Harmon determined to have revenge on Joyce, and began slyly to circulate reports that Joyce Crawford, if she chose, could tell a great deal about the escape of the Rebel officer. In fact, half of his sickness was shammed.
These rumors came to the ears of Mark Crawford. He had been promoted to a colonelcy for gallantry at Chickamauga. During the winter, while the army lay still around Chattanooga, he had come home on furlough. While at home he sought out Harmon and gave him as fine a thrashing as a man ever received, warning him if he ever heard of him connecting his sister with the escape of Calhoun again he would break every bone in his body. The only revenge Harmon durst take was to defeat Mr. Crawford in his aspirations for a nomination for Congress.
CHAPTER XXII.
PRISON DOORS ARE OPENED.
When Calhoun parted from Joyce he sank back in the carriage and gave himself up to the most gloomy thoughts. The sorrow of parting from her took from him the joy of his escape. During the journey his dusky driver did not speak a word. The drive seemed a long one to Calhoun, and he was thoroughly wearied when the carriage drew up by a log house, surrounded by a small clearing.
"Heah we be, Ma.s.sa," said Abe, as he alighted from his seat. "Hope Ma.s.sa had a good ride."
The door of the house was opened by a motherly looking colored woman, and Abe, taking Calhoun once more in his arms, carried him into the house.
Aunt Liza, as the wife of Abe was called, seeing Calhoun looking so pale and thin, put her fat, black hand on his forehead, and said, "Po" chile, po" chile, don"t yo" worry. Aunt Liza take good care ob yo"."
Calhoun felt that he was among friends-friends that would prove faithful and true. He was carried up a ladder to a chamber. The upper part of the house was all in one room, rather low, but the rough walls were whitewashed, and everything was neat and clean. He was placed on a snow-white bed, and soon sank into a peaceful slumber. When he awoke the sun was shining in at the window and Aunt Liza appeared with a breakfast good enough to tempt the appet.i.te of one far more particular than Calhoun.
The invalid remained with his kind friends two weeks, treated like an honored guest, and protected from every inquiring eye. He gained strength rapidly, and at the end of a week was able to walk out evenings, when there was no danger of being seen. Once men who were searching for him entered the house, and Calhoun could hear every word that was said. His heart beat painfully, for it entered his mind that Abe and his wife might betray him for the sake of the reward offered. But the thought did injustice to these simple-minded people. As for the searchers, the loft of the house of a poor negro who had run away from slavery was the last place they thought of looking for an escaped Confederate.
Through Abe Calhoun often heard from Joyce. She cheered him with words of love and comfort, but absolutely refused to come and see him, saying it would be dangerous. In this she was right, for Andrew Harmon was alert. He believed that Joyce had had something to do with the disappearance of Calhoun, and had her closely watched. Fortunately his suspicions did not extend to Abe, so that communication between Joyce and Calhoun was not interrupted. At the end of two weeks he felt able to leave his place of concealment. But where should he go? He longed to be South, in the midst of the strife, but his heart was drawn toward Columbus, where his comrades lay languishing in prison. What could he do at Columbus? He did not know, but something might transpire that would enlighten him. At least he would go and look over the field. Once out of the neighborhood, in his Federal uniform and with Brown"s discharge in his pocket, there would be little fear of detection. He made his preparations to go, wrote Joyce the letter which she prized so highly, and bade his kind protectors farewell, placing in their hands a hundred dollars. Their surprise and joy over the gift were about equal.
"De Lawd keep yo"!" said Aunt Liza, wiping her eyes.
Calhoun had determined to start early in the evening, travel all night, lie concealed during the day, and travel the next night. By that time he thought he would be so far away from the place of his escape that he could venture to take the cars without danger. Aunt Liza had supplied him with ample provisions for the two days. He carried out his programme, and on the morning of the second day found himself near a small town where he concluded to take the cars, but deemed it safer to wait for the night train. The conductor eyed him sharply when he paid his fare instead of showing a pa.s.s, for soldiers generally travelled on Federal transportation. But the conductor took the money and pa.s.sed on without remark.
Opposite Calhoun in the car sat a gentlemanly looking man, and much to Calhoun"s surprise, when the conductor pa.s.sed, he saw the gentleman make the sign of recognition of the Knights of the Golden Circle, and it was answered by the conductor. When the conductor next pa.s.sed Calhoun gave the sign. The man stared, but did not answer. But he seemed to be troubled, and pa.s.sed through the cars frequently, and Calhoun saw that he was watching him closely. At length, in pa.s.sing, the conductor bent down and whispered to the gentleman opposite. Calhoun now knew another pair of eyes were observing him.
Watching his opportunity, Calhoun gave this gentleman the sign of recognition. The gentleman shifted uneasily in his seat, but did not answer.
"I will give you something stronger," thought Calhoun, and the next time he caught the gentleman"s eye, he gave the sign of distress. This was a sign no true knight could afford to ignore. Leaning over, the gentleman said, "My boy, you look pale. Have you been sick?"
"Very, and I now need friends," answered Calhoun.
"Come over here and tell me about it," said the gentleman.
Calhoun took a seat by his side, and the man whispered, "Are you a deserter, and are they after you?"
"Yes," said Calhoun.
"Where are you going?"
"To Columbus."
"That is a poor place to go to keep out of the hands of Lincoln"s minions," answered the man.
"I am not afraid," said Calhoun. "What I want to know is where I can find friends in Columbus whom I can trust-true, firm friends of the South."
"My name is Pettis," replied the man. "I reside in Columbus. Once let me be satisfied as to who you are and what you are wearing that uniform for and I may be able to help you."
"That is easily answered," said Calhoun; "but first I must be fully satisfied as to you. Let me prove you, my brother."
Calhoun found that Mr. Pettis was high up in the order, and was violent in his hatred of the Lincoln government. He could be trusted.
"I am not a Federal soldier," said Calhoun after he had fully tested him.
"I am wearing this uniform as a disguise. I am a Confederate officer."