The Red Mist/Chapter 30
CHAPTER XXX
A WAY OF ESCAPE
THE light of the moon streamed in through the south windows in a flood of silence, revealing the overturned benches, the moving figures along the walls, the smoke cloud drifting upward to the rafters. The lieutenant, after a brief word to his men in the vestibule, picked his way down the narrow aisle, stopping an instant to question Wharton and O'Hare. With one quick glance through the window, I stepped down from the pulpit platform to meet him. He was bare-headed and coatless, and even in that dim light I could perceive a dark stain, like oozing blood, on the front of his shirt.
"You are wounded?" I exclaimed.
"Nothing to worry over," he replied easily, his eyes laughing, "a mere touch in the shoulder, which, however, has put my left arm out of commission. Ah! fair cousin!" and he held up his hand in sudden greeting. "We who are about to die, salute you."
"Do not say that," she pleaded. "Surely the victory is ours."
"Ay! we win the first round, but it has cost heavily. I doubt if we have such luck again. Yet forgive me; those were careless words, but the Harwood breed are given to intemperate speech." He turned to me. "What loss have you, Wyatt?"
"Two wounded, and one killed," I answered soberly. "We had Cowan's guerrillas to meet out there."
"Yes, I know; the infantrymen stormed the front, and the troopers peppered the side windows. They meant to keep us all busy, and try out our strength—O'Hare got the least of it, and never lost a man; Wharton has three down, while they got five of my lads. The front doors are fairly riddled; a good blow with the butt of a tree will send them crashing in."
"You believe they will attack again!"
"Lord—yes! They know now what they are up against. That man Fox is a soldier; he and a dozen others were at the door. They'll consolidate next time, trust to the weight of numbers, and break through. They respect us now, but we haven't licked the fight out of them by a long chalk. I'm going to take three of your men."
"That leaves only one to a window."
"You will have to get along. If the attack develops at your end I'll reinforce you; but it will not—the whole kit and caboodle are coming straight for those doors—Fox knows their condition. Well, that's enough; there is too much to be done to stand here talking—send me the men at once."
He whispered a word to her, some good-natured pleasantry, I thought, as he bowed over her hand as though they parted in a gay parlor; then turned laughing away, and picked his passage down the aisle, a slender, debonair figure, whistling a gay camp tune. I stared after him, scarcely able to comprehend such gay-spirited recklessness, when he stopped suddenly, and faced about.
"Do what you can for your wounded, Wyatt," he called back, his voice instantly serious, "and keep my fair cousin out of the ruck."
Several figures fell in behind him as he went forward—the men he had asked for from Wharton and O'Hare—all disappearing within the blackness of the vestibule. Leaving one man alone posted at each opening, I had the others of my small company bear the two wounded men to the further corner, making them as comfortable as possible. The dead man was laid out on one of the benches, and then the three selected for that duty were sent to join the lieutenant. This depletion of force left me a window to defend alone against the second attack, the opening to the left of the pulpit, next to the corner in which lay the wounded men, and the prisoner. As I crossed the platform, and took my place, Noreen arose from beside one of the bodies, and her hands grasped my arm.
"The soldier who was shot in the chest has just died," she said, her voice trembling. "He—he tried to tell me something, but—but it was too late."
"And the other man?"
"His hurt is not so serious. I tore my skirt and bound it up, but there was no water. I—I wish he wouldn't groan so."
Her face, white in the moonlight, was uplifted; I even thought I could see the glint of tears in the eyes. Suddenly a great wave of sympathy, of regret, seemed to sweep over me, and I leaned the carbine against the wall, and clasped both her hands in mine.
"We grow accustomed to groans in war," I said swiftly, "but what unmans me is your being here exposed to all this danger."
"Oh, no one will hurt me; I am not afraid for myself—truly I am not. Captain Fox would never permit them to harm me."
"True; if Fox comes through alive; but Cowan and Raymond are both here also, and I know not which I distrust the more. I did wrong to permit your ever coming with me; to risk your life in so desperate a game."
"Do not say that, Tom," her voice eager and earnest. "I am no worse off here than I would be if you had left me in Lewisburg. It was my choice, and even now I would rather be here with you. Why," she paused, drawing in a quick breath, "if—if I had remained behind I might be helplessly in the grip of Anse Cowan! Have—have you forgotten that?"
"No, I had not forgotten; but there is danger enough here—more than you realize. You have never seen men mad with battle lust, crazed from victory. They see through a red mist, and forget sex. They are coming in here presently, firing and killing, smashing their way through from wall to wall. Your cousin is not the kind to ever raise a white flag—he'll go down fighting, and his men beside him. I've been thinking of it all, my girl, and there is one thing I want you to do now, before the final assault comes."
"What?"
"Let me send you out under flag of truce to the protection of Captain Fox. He'll guard you as he would his own daughter."
"And—and leave you men in here to die?"
"To take our chances, of course; that is a part of the trade. Your remaining with us cannot change the result, whatever it may prove to be—and, with me, it is merely a choice between bullet and rope."
She buried her face in her hands, but there was no sound of sobbing. I waited, ashamed of my inconsiderate words, yet when her eyes were again lifted they were tearless.
"I know," she said, "and you feel that it will be best for you—for you, if I go?"
"Yes, Noreen," earnestly. "The very knowledge that you are here saps my courage. Surely you can understand why this should be so, for the more desperate our defense the more ruthless our enemies will prove in the hour of victory. The very knowledge of what the result may be would almost lead me to surrender, and, to a less degree, your presence here must affect your cousin."
"The lieutenant! Why to a less degree?"
"Because," I broke forth swiftly, "you are less to him. This is your first meeting; there is no tie between you, except a distant relationship just discovered. His solicitude is merely the protection of a woman, while I cannot forget that you are my wife."
"A temporary matter, a mere form. So you wish to forget?"
"I did not say that, and have never thought it."
"Yet you regret?"
"Only because of the danger in which you have been plunged—here comes Harwood now."
There was no mistaking the slender erectness of the man's figure even in that dim light, nor the cheerful sound of his voice, as he paused, glancing out through the side windows, and giving laughing greeting to the soldiers.
"Ah! my bold gunner of Staunton," he exclaimed as he stepped onto the pulpit platform, "and is everything still quiet here? Now you know what it means when they sing if you want a good time jine the cavalry. Let me get a glimpse without."
He stood gazing forth into the moonlight, and our eyes took in the same scene. Except for the dead bodies lying in the open, there was little to see, although a few figures, apparently of men, moved back and forth at a distance well beyond range.
"As I thought, Wyatt," said the lieutenant, finally turning about. "They are massing their forces again at the front. My lady you will witness some real war presently."
"They may delay the next attack till daylight."
"No such luck; those fellows are soldiers, not Indians, and are anxious to get through with the job."
"I have been urging your cousin to let us send her out under flag of truce," I said quietly, "to the protection of Captain Fox."
"That is really what I came back here for," he admitted, "and we haven't any time to spare. What say you, fair cousin?"
She stood between us, and before she answered her eyes sought both our faces.
"Is this asked of me on your account, gentlemen, or my own?"
"Your own, of course," he answered before I could speak.
"Then my choice is to stay." Suddenly I felt her hand on mine. "You will not refuse me this privilege, Tom?"
"No," reluctantly; yet at the same time strangely delighted at the prompt decision, "but I thought the other best."
Harwood laughed lightly.
"Again the blood," he said gaily. "Bah! so far as I was concerned the asking was mere form; the answer was already in the lady's eyes. But I must go back to my lambs."
"You have secured the door?"
"The best we can; braced it with benches solid to the wall. The wood will not resist long, but 'twill make an ugly abatis for the Yanks to clamber in over."
He lifted his cap gallantly, and turned away, humming some gay tune softly as he felt his way along the moonlit aisle. His very light-heartedness left me sober and depressed. She must have realized all this, for her handclasp tightened.
"You are sorry? You wished me to go?"
"I hardly know, Noreen; I have every confidence in Fox—who is making that noise? is it the preacher?"
He was propped up against the wall, not far from us, and I bent over, noting how he was bound. Instantly I cut the cords, and began rubbing the man's wrists to restore circulation.
"I never noticed you were strung up like that, Nichols," I said earnestly. "Who did the job?"
"The sergeant," he answered, choking. "I tried ter speak as soon as I saw you an' the lady yere, but I couldn't git the gag out 'er my mouth. Bend down a bit lower; I don't want none o' them sojers ter hear."
"All right—what is it?"
"Yer ol' Jedge Wyatt's boy, ain't yer?"
"Yes."
"An' she's the darter o' Major Harwood?"
"This is Noreen Harwood."
"I thought so, but thar ain't hardly light 'nough fer me ter be sure. I married yer over cross ther mountings—an' is Anse Cowan along with them Yanks out thar?"
"Yes, and all the gang, excepting old Ned, who was shot last night."
"You shot him?"
"Well, it was my pistol; we were fighting together." Suddenly a thought swept through my mind. "See here, Nichols: you are in as bad shape as we are. Anse has treated you like a dog, and he will never forgive you for that marriage, even if it was performed to save your life—"
"It wasn't," he chuckled. "I wa'n't afeerd yer would shoot. I wus thet mad at Anse I didn't care; but I reckon he'll 'bout skin me alive if ever he kitches me yere."
"Do you know of any way out?"
He glanced about cautiously, to assure himself that no soldier was within earshot.
"The baptistry."
"The what?"
"The baptistry under the pulpit; this is a Baptist church, and ther is an opening in the floor just back of where you are. Feel a little to the left—yes, about thar—don't you touch an iron ring? What? well thar's one thar, an' it lifts two puncheon slabs spiked tergether."
"Yes, but what is below—just a tank?"
His voice trembled with eager excitement, and he gripped me tightly.
"I ain't afeerd ter tell you, cause I knew both yer daddies, an'—an' I reckon yer'll take me 'long with yer, won't you? Yer won't leave me yere fer ter face that Anse Cowan? Ye'll promise me that?"
"Of course, Nichols," I said soothingly, the man's cowardice almost disgusting, "if you show us a way of escape we'll go together if the chance comes—what is it? speak quick."
"I—I know the ol' trail over the mountings down ter Covington; I reckon as how you couldn't never git thar without me. I—I thought it all out while I was lyin' yere trussed up like a turkey, but they never giv' me no show fer ter got loose. Now if you folks will cut this yere rope offen my legs I'll show yer how fer ter git out—an' nobody'll never know nuthin' 'bout it."
"Explain first," I said shortly. "As far as trust goes I have confidence in you, Nichols, just so far as I can see you. What is below?"
"Five steps leadin' down inter a wood tank," he explained slowly, realizing that his only hope of release lay in a full description. "It's empty now, an' dry as a board; ain't been a baptism yere in six months. The place whar' the water runs out is at the south side, right down 'gainst the bottom; ther cover ter the opening is screwed tight by a wheel. Ol' Ned Cowan made ther contraption, an' yer kin stand on ther upper step an' open an' shut the thing, an' never git yer feet wet."
"The entire cover comes off?"
"Sure, if yer unscrew it fer enough."
"And how big is the opening?"
"Wal, I don't jist know, but I've crawled through thar fixing a leak, an' if I did it onct, I reckon I kin again. 'Taint mor'n 'bout six feet beyond ther wall till it hits the edge o' ther ravine. Thet's why the Yanks didn't make no attack on thet side o' ther church—thar ain't no room."
The whole situation lay clear before me. I had no thought of utilizing this unexpected opportunity myself, for I meant to stay with the others, and perform my part of the fighting to the end. But here was protection, and possible escape, for Noreen. Yet could the preacher be trusted? Would he play fair if I released him, and left them alone together? Did not his interests also lie in getting away safely? What act of treachery could he commit? and, besides the girl was armed.
"How do you light this church?"
"Candles mostly," surprised at the question, "yer ain't goin' fer ter light up, are yer?"
"Not here—no; but below; where is there one?"
"I reckon on thet thar shelf in the pulpit yer'll find a dozen er so."
"Bring a couple here, Noreen."
She slipped across silently, and came back with two in her hand.
"You are going to try to get away?" she whispered cautiously.
"No, not now. An opportunity may come later. If it was possible to slip all these men out I would gladly do so—but it is already too late for any such attempt. But there is a chance for you, and it is even barely possible that, when all hope of defense is over, I may find some way of joining you."
"You—you promise that?" she asked. "If I consent to go, you—you will come later if you can?"
"Yes; I will pledge myself to accept every chance, when I can do no more fighting. I'll come to you, if I live. Now, Nichols, listen—I am going to set you free, and permit you to slip down through that trap door with this lady. She is armed, and she knows how to shoot. Attempt one treacherous trick and you pay the penalty."
"I ain't thet kind," he whined.
"Oh, yes you are; but it will never pay this time. Don't take your eyes off him, Noreen; the moment that trap door closes light the candle, and keep the revolver ready. Make him unscrew the cap, and leave it off out of the way. Set the candle down in one corner as far back as possible. You better go out first."
"I—I am not to wait for you?" bewildered.
"Not in there—no; outside, for they might fire the building. Nichols, where is the best place for the two of you to hide so I could find you?"
"In the woods to the west; there is a trail half way down the ravine a climbin' up—an ol' hog trail."
My fingers touched his throat, and I bent lower staring straight into his eyes.
"Now, mark well what I say, Nichols. I am going to release you, and give you a chance to get away. But you stay, with the woman—do you hear! Stay with her until you both reach the Confederate lines at Covington. If I ever get out of here alive, and learn you have attempted any trick, I'll run you down, Nichols, if it takes ten years. Now I'll cut the rope, and you creep over to where that ring is in the floor, and wait my order."
Evidently his limbs were numb from the tight cord, for he crept the few feet painfully, and then sat up rubbing the afflicted parts with both hands. I swept one glance out through the window, and then about the dim interior, endeavoring to locate the men nearest us. Only one stood close enough to observe our movements, and I sent him with a message to the sergeant.
"Now, Noreen," I whispered swiftly, "this is the best time. Take these papers; they are for Jackson; give them to the first Confederate officer you meet, and have them forwarded at once. Don't trust Nichols for a single moment out of range of your revolver."
"You will not come?"
"Not now; you would not wish me to desert my comrades—would you?"
"Oh, I do not know! I do not know. It is so hard to decide. You really wish me to go? It will please you?"
"Yes."
"And you will come if—if you can? I am to wait, and and hope for you?"
"I pledge you my word, dear girl."
She clung to my hands, her face uplifted in the moonlight.
"I—I am your wife," she said softly, "and I—I want you to—"
Three shots rang out clear and distinct without, and a voice shouted hoarsely.
"Stand to it, lads!" cried Harwood from the dark vestibule. "The Yanks are coming!"
I swung her light form across the platform to where Nichols crouched.
"Quick now, both of you! Careful; don't fall, Noreen! Go on, man; I'll close the trap—and God help you if you don't remember!"