CHAPTER VIII.

_Gone!—The Signal Song._

WE must now take the reader back to Springfield. It was one week after the exposure and confinement of Walker, and something like a month before the army had commenced its retrograde movement, as described in the foregoing chapter.

Walker, after the first paroxysm of his rage was over, settled himself down to think. Although he had shown a bold front at first, his final conviction drove from his heart all resolution, and he evinced the most abject cowardice—the cowardice of conscious guilt, which makes the strongest tremble.

But Walker was not a man to sit quietly in his cell, and submit to his fate. His mind having been settled in the conviction that certain death would follow, he began to form his plans of action. To arrive at any definite conclusion was no easy matter, as he was chained, and a double guard placed around his quarters. Yet he had hope—time was given and all might yet be right. He learned that he was not to be tried by a division court-martial, but would be removed to St. Louis, in order that a general court might act upon his case. He also learned that it would be at least a month, before the army would take up its march. Thus he had time—time precious to him—for, like all shrewd villains, he had his confederates, even in the army as well as out of it, and to these he now looked for his bodily safety.

It was the third night of his incarceration, that, springing to his feet, he listened intently. There were three distinct taps on the door.

“The rescuers—the gang—I’m saved!” he muttered, as he gave three taps on the door, in response.

“What’s the word?” was asked from the outside.

“C. S. A. and the Bars!” answered Walker. “And you?”

“Good! Union against oppression!”

“To-night?” asked Walker, with eagerness.

“No, the pal on the other side ain’t for Union. Can’t before day after to-morrow. Jim goes on then, and though it ain’t my turn, I think I can get pony No. 2 drunk, and the job can be done. I’ll try.”

“Be cautious. Trust no one without the word. It was the neglect on my part, thinking it all right, to demand the ‘words,’ which brought me into this scrape!”

The “rounds” approached, and the sentinel was relieved.

Nothing of importance transpired in camp for the next three days. An unusual quiet prevailed. It is true, there was much talk upon the subject of the attempted murder, and many expressions of bitterness against Walker. Some even went so far as to suggest the hanging of that wretch before the army left Springfield, lest he should escape. None were more vehement than a repulsive looking soldier, known throughout camp as “ugly Jim!” He stated that he had been on guard only a few nights before in front of the prisoner’s quarters, and that he had every reason to believe Walker was trying to escape, adding that he wished he had been satisfied of the fact, as he would have been glad of an opportunity to put a bullet through the murderous scoundrel.

The party had been drinking freely, and had become exceedingly communicative. One of the soldiers, whose post was No. 1 on guard duty that night—that is, in front of the prisoner’s door—swore he would shoot Walker if he could find any pretext.

“_You_ have no spite against him,” exclaimed ugly Jim, “and _I_ have. Let _me_ take the matter in hand. I will stand your guard, and if the villain attempts to move, I’ll riddle him, sure as Potosi lead mines.”

“Enough said. I am on the second relief. I go on at seven and off at nine; again at twelve and off at two. This will be your time.”

“Good! I shall be on hand!”

Ugly Jim then approached the tent of Miss Hayward, and requested an audience alone with that lady. It so happened that she was alone, Alibamo having gone to visit her husband, and Sally being at the time strolling through the camp with Nettleton.

“If you wish to learn all the particulars about your brother, I think you can do so,” said Jim, in a tone of great kindness.

“Oh! in what manner?” asked Miss Hayward, eagerly.

“I don’t exactly know. But I will tell you what I _do_ know. You see I am on guard to-night from twelve till two, over the cell of Walker. I don’t like the villain any way, but, he told me if I would get you to come to him, he would tell you all he knows of the matter!”

“Certainly I will go. Call Alibamo, and we will go together, at once!”

“I will,” answered Jim, as he turned to depart. Then pausing, he added:

“Miss Hayward, now I recollect that Walker said you must come alone. He declared he would not commit himself by speaking before any one.”

“I dare not go alone!”

“Poor child!” exclaimed Jim, as he wiped his eyes. “Do you think you _can_ be alone when this old soldier, as folks call ‘ugly Jim,’ is near you? I know my face is ugly, but I don’t think my heart is! Besides, you won’t _see_ the wretch himself. You will only talk to him through a crack between the logs, and I shall be as close to you as Walker will allow. Of course he wont let _me_ hear what he says, but I shan’t let you be out of my sight, so there will be no danger!”

“Why can we not go at once?” asked Miss Hayward.

“Because I don’t go on post until twelve o’clock, and the other guard wouldn’t let you speak to him.”

“Then I will come at quarter past twelve. But I shall rely upon you for protection!”

“You may do that, miss. And I really think you do right. I know Walker is a _very_ bad man, but he has got to die, and may be he wants to make a confession to relieve his mind, and to ask your pardon. And I always think it best to give a dying man a chance to relieve his mind, and confess.”

“You may expect me!”

Jim bowed, and left the tent.

Twelve o’clock came; the guard was relieved, and “ugly Jim” had taken the place of his _sick friend_, in front of Walker’s prison. All was quiet, save the clanking of a chain, a few hurried whispers, and the opening and closing of a heavy door, which sounds were in close proximity to Walker’s dungeon. The words “_C. S. A. and Bars_” were answered by “_Union against Oppression_,” and two dark forms glided to concealment beside the thorn hedge, while the guard remained at the door.

* * * * *

The evening dragged slowly along for Miss Hayward. A hundred times she had almost resolved to communicate to her friends the fact of her intended visit to Walker, and to ask their advice, and, if need be, to request that some one should follow in the distance, to lend assistance, should any be required. But what had she to fear? Walker was secure in his cell, and one of the faithful guard had promised his protection. Besides, she had promised to go alone. If she did not, it would imply suspicion of an honest soldier. Walker might also ask if she had come entirely unattended, and how could she answer him?

Miss Hayward was naturally timid, and by no means self-reliant. When the news of the supposed death of her brother reached her, she was almost paralyzed with grief. But, now that hope had filled her heart, she began to nerve herself to the task of unremitting search, even though she must encounter the greatest dangers.

The hour of twelve arrived. Closely muffled in a cloak, she crept from her tent, and then paused to listen. She heard nothing, save the slow and regular breathing of the sleepers, and the violent beating of her own heart. She started, but her steps seemed to fail her, and she leaned against a tree for support. The thought of her dear brother, and the probable unraveling of the mystery which surrounded his attempted assassination, and his present fate, gave her renewed courage, and she sped onward. In a few moments she had cleared the camp, and arrived in the center of the garden, where stood the doomed man’s prison. As she neared the door, the guard asked:

“Is that you, Miss Hayward?”

“It is!” came the low response.

“Approach and fear nothing.”

She had barely reached the threshold, when two forms, darting from beneath the hedge, threw a heavy blanket over her head, thus entirely smothering any attempt, on her part, to give the alarm. Who and what her captors were, she could not divine, or what might be their purpose. Strange to say, her reason did not forsake her. She felt herself borne rapidly along, but not a word was spoken. It appeared to her that hours passed by, and she even longed to hear some word uttered which might give a clue to the intentions of those in whose power she was, or to throw some light upon the subject, as to whom her captors were. The blanket, which was very heavy, almost causing suffocation, had been removed, and a lighter one substituted.

At length the parties halted, and, seating themselves upon the ground, the covering was removed, and Miss Hayward was permitted to gaze around her. Her eyes first met those of Captain Walker. She shuddered, and turned away. Then glancing at his two companions, she at once recognized “ugly Jim,” and a person known in camp as “stupid Dick,” both of whom had served as Union soldiers, for a long time, under Walker. As her eyes met those of “ugly Jim,” she exclaimed:

“Oh! _you_ will protect me?”

A laugh was the only reply.

“I trust Miss Hayward will permit _me_ to become her protector!” said Walker, in an assumed tone of kindness.

Miss Hayward did not reply, but gazed around her. She was in a wild spot. She was seated beside a lovely stream of water, in a deep valley, while high on either hand were ragged hills or mountains. She knew the country for at least ten or twelve miles from Springfield in all directions was quite level, and she judged she must be near the Ozark country, the first range of whose ridges she had frequently seen from that point.

“Does not the lovely Miss Hayward deign a reply to her most devoted lover?” asked Walker.

“What was your purpose in tearing me from my friends, and conveying me here?” asked Miss Hayward.

“A pardonable one, I think. My life was forfeited in the Federal camp, and personal interest required me to depart. I could not think of leaving without you, and so I resorted to a little stratagem. My love for you must plead my excuse.”

“But I have told you, Captain Walker, that I could not love you. Do you suppose after what has transpired that I could entertain any other feeling toward you than detestation?”

“I am aware of that. But, when you know me better, I am sure you will consent to reward my devotion. I am going to convey you to your brother!”

“Then I _will_ thank you, at least!” exclaimed Miss Hayward.

“Nothing else?”

She shuddered.

“I must be plain with you,” continued Walker. “I am _not_ what I have seemed to be while with the Federals. I am a colonel in the Confederate army, but I accepted a commission in the so-called Union army, that I might furnish information to my Generals. Or, if you like the term better, you may call me a spy. These two soldiers have been with me for the same purpose. And we were not alone. There are now, in the army of the Mississippi, over three hundred privates, and over twenty officers, who _pretend_ loyalty to the Federal cause; and I think, when his sister has become the wife of Captain Walker, or Colonel Brown, he may be induced to join us!”

“Will you take me to my brother?”

“On one condition, I will.”

“And this condition?”

“Miss Hayward, I love you with all the ardor of my soul. You have become necessary to my very existence—_are_ a part of my life. When you spurned me, it drove me frantic, and I am so now. Beware—oh! beware how you turn this heart, which is yet pure, so far as you are concerned, into a hell of furies! Pity me! Oh! dear Miss Hayward, pity me!”

“But my brother—what of him?”

“I will tell you of your brother when you have answered my questions.”

“Proceed, sir!”

“Do not speak so coldly. I will be frank with you. Your brother is a prisoner—not in the Confederate camp, but in a secure place, on the very stream beside which you are now sitting. The murmuring and singing of these very waters will, ere two hours, greet his ears with the same strain. Warble those strains to which I have so often listened while in camp, and which stirred my soul, and they will be borne direct to your brother’s hearing, to relieve his brain perhaps from the insanity which now enchains him!”

“Insanity!” echoed Mamie. “My brother insane?”

“He is a raving maniac! And but one thing can restore him!”

“Oh wretched, horrible news! What _can_ I do to save my brother?”

“You are the only person who _can_ save him. Nor is the task a hard one. Only a few miles from here is a Confederate camp. A chaplain is in attendance. He will perform the ceremony which will make you irrevocably and securely mine. Go with me. Become my wife, and to-morrow I will take you to your brother, and we will not only restore his shackled feet to liberty, but his shattered senses to reason. We alone can do it. Can you assume the responsibility of a refusal?”

Miss Hayward remained silent for a few moments, and then gazed alternately at the three villains. An unnatural fire lit up her eyes. At length she said:

“Captain Walker, I do not know but you are even now deceiving me. You may not know any thing about where my brother is.”

“Ask these soldiers,” replied Walker.

Miss Hayward turned her eyes upon them.

“The captain speaks right,” answered Jim. “He _does_ know where your brother is. He _is_ crazy and is chained in the—”

“Silence!” commanded Walker. “Do you believe, Miss Mamie?”

“I must believe the worst,” answered Miss Hayward. “Soldiers,” she added, turning to the soldiers, “do you believe in the truth of Captain Walker’s profession of love for me?”

“I should like to know why not!” replied Jim, doggedly. “Nobody could _help_ loving you; even I loves you, but I know it ain’t no use, and so I don’t say nothing!”

“What have _you_ to say?” asked Mamie, turning to the other soldier.

“Lord, Miss Mamie, I allers loved you, but ‘stupid Dick’ never thinks of such as you, and so I acted mean just to spite!”

“Gentlemen,” cried Miss Hayward, springing to her feet, “listen to me. You have wronged me deeply, by aiding this wretched villain, your captain, to abduct me. I despise, loathe him; and, sooner than become _his_ wife, I would permit my brother to die as he is, for I know that he would curse me were I to save him at such a sacrifice. It will be _but_ death, and I shall suffer very little, for my brother’s pure soul will scarce have taken its flight, ere mine will follow!”

“Miss Hayward!”

“Silence, Captain Walker. Soldiers, you have human hearts, and this man has not. I appeal to you. Save me! Find my brother and return him safely, and I promise to pay you one thousand dollars each. If I fail to do this, I swear, by the hope of heaven, that I will become the wife of one of you, the choice to be decided by lots between you!”

These words acted like an electric shock upon the soldiers. They sprung to their feet and confronted Walker. But he had anticipated the effects of her words, and stood sword and revolver in hand.

“You would play me false!” demanded Walker, fiercely.

“Guess I would!” replied Jim.

“Take that, then!” yelled Walker.

The report of a pistol echoed through the valley, and Jim fell without so much as a groan.

“And how do _you_ decide?” asked Walker, turning and pointing his revolver toward Dick.

“I was only goin’ to help you. I ain’t no such foolish cuss as to think of marrying a fine lady like that! I’m all right!”

“Prove yourself so, and you shall _have_ your thousand. Deceive me, and you share his fate!”

As Walker spoke he stepped to a clump of thick bushes, and drew a small boat from concealment. Handing Miss Hayward to a seat, and preceded by Dick, Walker entered, and the little craft swept gently along with the current, down the stream.

They had proceeded but a short distance, when Miss Hayward burst forth, and sung a wild, thrilling air, which echoed far and wide, through the valley and across the hills. There was something strangely beautiful in her song, and something still more strange in her actions. As each strain echoed over the hills, and gave back the ringing notes, she would start, and listen attentively, and a gleam of joy would lighten up her pale face, upon which a shade of disappointment would almost as soon appear. Her hearers sat in silence, and in apparent wonder.

“Those words are significant!” exclaimed Walker. “What is their import?”

“_She’s_ going mad, too, I opine!” exclaimed Dick. “Better _let_ her go!”

“Silence!” cried Walker. “Miss Hayward, do you think your voice will penetrate _his_ retreat?”

She made no answer, but, as the little boat swept onward, ever and anon the same words, and the same wild music broke the stillness of the forest, now sounding like a wail of sorrow, and then becoming almost hushed in hopeful expectation. The words had the appearance of being extemporized for the occasion, and were as follows:

Break those fetters—I am calling— Listen _only_ to my song! I am waiting—loved one—waiting! I have waited—oh, so long! Give but one fond word to cheer me, As I pray, and hope, and weep! Let _thy echo_ say thou’rt near me, As my vigils thus I keep! Echo, as along I glide, This my song, from thy retreat, And I’ll bound to thy dear side! Are we e’er again to meet? Yes, a Seraph from on high Whispers to me, thou art nigh! Friends are waiting—friends are near— Dearest brother—do not fear!