Читать книгу The Prisoner of the Mill; or, Captain Hayward's "Body Guard" - Harry Hazelton - Страница 4

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When Captain Hayward left the tent, he proceeded to the stream which skirted the woods. Bending over it, he bathed his fevered brow. Then he seated himself upon the bank of the river, and, resting his head upon his hands, was, for a long time, absorbed in his thoughts. A human form flitted lightly past. Hayward raised his head and listened, but all was quiet again, and, in the darkness of the night he could distinguish nothing.

“I was mistaken!” he said to himself. “If I was not, and a human being is around, I will wager it was Nettleton, who, anxious for my safety, has followed me.”

The captain was again silent for a moment, when the breaking of a twig betrayed the presence of some person. Hayward raised his head and called:

“William! William Nettleton!”

“Sir!” answered a voice but a few feet from the captain.

“Why did you follow me, William?”

“Cos I’m a darn skunk,” drawled the person addressed, as he emerged out of the darkness. “And——Curse you!”

The person speaking was before him. In an instant Hayward sprung to his feet, but, with a cry of agony exclaimed: “Great God, Nettleton—why have you—oh God, save me—you’ve killed me—I die!” And, falling heavily forward, the words died upon his tongue.

The murderer bent over the murdered for a moment; then, with some haste, rolled the body into the water, and turned from the spot. He paused under the shade of a tree, and listened for the tread of a sentry, that he might enter the camp unobserved. With a half-suppressed laugh he uttered his thoughts:

“I have done it, sure; and now that it is done, I must progress—no retreating now. I think I’ll win. Good-by, captain, and give my respects to my friends as you float downstream.”

He proceeded with caution toward the camp, and was soon lost in the city of canvas.

The tattoo soon sounded. Lights were extinguished, and all was quiet, save in a few tents, which appeared to be those of officers. Yet, there were aching hearts within that camp, and, as the night progressed, many were the anxious inquiries as to why Captain Hayward did not return.

In a large tent, near that occupied by Captain Hayward, were seated three ladies. One was Miss Hayward; another was Alibamo, or, as she is now a wife, she should be called Mrs. Adjutant Hinton; the other was Miss Sally Long, the waiting-maid of Alibamo. Before this tent paced a special guard; beside it was a tent of much smaller dimensions, occupied by Nettleton and his servant, black George, or, as Nettleton used to call him, “Swasey’s nigger.”

“I fear something has befallen my brother. He does not return, and it is now twelve o’clock!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Alibamo, in a soothing voice; “your brother is most likely at the head-quarters of General Sigel. He may be detained on business. Come, let us retire.”

“No, not while my brother is absent.”

At this moment the guard came to the tent entrance and said:

“Ladies, if you have not yet retired Captain Walker requests the pleasure of a few words with Miss Hayward.”

“Oh, Alibamo, I fear that man; he looks at me so strangely. But perhaps he brings news of my brother. I will see him. Bid the captain enter.”

As Walker entered he appeared agitated, but controlling his emotions, he said:

“Ladies, you will pray excuse me. I feel that I must speak now, as it may be my last opportunity. We—or, I should say the army—will be separated at Springfield, and I shall see you no more.”

“Do you bring news of my brother?” asked Miss Hayward.

“No! His disappearance is very strange. But I came to speak of myself.”

“What would you say?”

“This, Miss Hayward. I have loved you long and dearly. To-morrow we may be parted, and I would ask you, should the fortunes, or rather the misfortunes, of war deprive you of a brother’s love and protection, will you not permit me to seek you out and become your future protector?”

“Captain Walker, these words surprise me, and I think propriety demanded that they should have been spoken in the presence of my brother.”

“Pardon me, dear lady. I have waited until this hour for your brother’s return, and at last, fearing I should have no other opportunity, I ventured to visit you now. You have a friend and sister in Alibamo, and surely you will not fear to speak before her.”

“I can not answer your question—it refers to the future.”

“Then for the present. Let me speak plainly, and I beg you will do the same. Can you not at least regard me now as your friend and protector, and give me a friend’s privileges?”

The timid girl turned toward Alibamo, and in an inaudible voice, spoke a word.

“She answers promptly, no!” replied Alibamo, somewhat sterner than was her usual manner.

“You love another, then?” asked Walker.

Miss Hayward did not reply.

“Is the favored one Lieutenant Wells?” again asked Walker.

“You are impertinent, Captain Walker,” replied Alibamo. “I must request you to retire. How can you thus, in her brother’s absence, address her in this manner?”

At this moment there was a commotion in the tent of Nettleton. The voice of the negro was heard, exclaiming:

“I he’rd you, massa Nettleton. There ain’t no use in you denyin’ it. I he’rd massa cap’n say, ‘Oh, Nettleton, ye kill me!’ Oh Lord, if eber I get out ob dis scrape, ye’ll neber catch dis chile in such another one.”

“Is the nigger crazy? What is the darn skunk talking about?”

“Oh, you needn’t make b’lieve ignoramus on dis ’ere question. I he’rd ye.”

“Now, look a here, you unconscionable dark; if you have got any thing to say, spit it out. Don’t make a darn skunk of yourself.”

“Oh! won’t I fotch ye up in de morning? Yes, sah!”

“Are you going to speak, and say what you mean?”

“Oh, golly! You go back on de cap’n dat way!”

“What cap’n? Out with it, or I’ll break your head and every bone in your body,” exclaimed Nettleton, in a state of undisguised excitement.

“Serve dis nigger as ye did de cap’n, and den put his body in de riber!”

The negro had scarcely uttered these words when Nettleton seized him. He set up a terrible howl, which brought Captain Walker to their tent.

“What is all this fuss about?” asked Walker.

The negro went on to explain as follows:

“Why, ye see, massa cap’n, I went ober to dat yar house across de riber, to see Miss Julia, a col’d gal dat used to be my sweetheart. Well, I see’d de Johnnies comin’, and I ran down to de riber to come on dis side, but dey come so close to me dat dis chile hid behind a big log. Den dey stop right by me, and say, ‘Golly, we can’t cotch nobody.’ Den I he’rd some one on de oder side ob de riber say, “Oh, Nettleton, you—”

“Silence this stuff! You have been drunk. If you speak upon this subject again, I’ll cut your black throat.”

“I’se dumb, massa cap’n.”

Quiet had now been restored, and all parties retired for the few hours that intervened before morning. But it was evident all were not asleep. Several times a stealthy step was heard, and a shadow flitted past the white canvas tent, dimly seen by the pale starlight.

Morning came at last, and all was astir. Captain Hayward had not yet returned. The inquiry was made if any one had seen him.

“I have not seen him since last evening at twilight,” replied Walker, “at which time he acted very strangely, and talked about the injustice of war. I am inclined to think he has deserted and joined the enemy.”

“Oh, you darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he sprang forward, and was about to strike the speaker. But, checking himself, he added: “It’s well you wear them gilt things on your shoulders, or I’d teach you to call my cap’n such names.”

“If you would save yourself trouble you had better remain quiet, Nettleton,” replied Walker, as he fixed his eyes significantly upon him.

“I knows where Cap’n Hayward am,” said the negro, stepping forward.

“Where is he?” sobbed Miss Hayward, pressing forward, in her eagerness.

“He is—”

“Silence!” yelled Walker.

“Let him speak,” said the colonel. “Go on, George. Where is the captain?”

“Down dar!” The negro trembled violently, and glanced at Nettleton.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s in de riber—killed dead, sure!”

A wild shriek rose upon the air as Miss Hayward fell back into the arms of Alibamo, insensible.

“By whom was he killed?”

“By massa Nettleton dar, sure. I he’rd across de riber, jis as plain as day.”

Nettleton started back in horror, his eyes extending widely, and his frame trembling. A general murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd.

“Did you see him do the deed?” asked the colonel.

“Golly, I couldn’t see much, it war so dark. But I hear massa cap’n say, ‘Oh, Nettleton, you kill me!’ Golly, see how massa Nettleton shake!”

“Where was this?”

“Rite down by dat tree. His blood is all ober de ground; I jest see it.”

In an instant Nettleton had dashed off for the spot indicated. In accordance with an order from the colonel he was pursued. Reaching the locality named, he gazed upon the ground. It was red with blood—fresh blood. He threw himself upon the earth, and wept and moaned, and called upon his captain to return. His grief was terrible to behold. By this time the officers and many of the men had arrived. They gazed upon the grief-stricken servant with respect, and more than one expression of sympathy was heard.

“If Captain Hayward has been murdered, it was not by that boy. Nettleton loved his captain too much to harm him,” said Lieutenant Wells. “I am inclined to think the deed has been done by skulking guerrillas.”

“I incline to your opinion, Lieutenant Wells, as to the innocence of Nettleton. But, as to the deed having been done by guerrillas, it is not likely. It is much too near camp.”

“But Hayward certainly had no enemy in our camp who would have done this deed.”

“We do not know the secret motives which animate the human heart,” replied Walker, in a tone and manner not devoid of meaning.

“Let instant search be made for the body,” commanded the colonel. It was done, but no trace of it could be found, although the water was too shallow to have permitted it to float down the river. Attention was again directed to Nettleton, who was sitting erect, gazing at a piece of sharp, bloody steel which he held in his hand. Viewing it a moment, he sprung to his feet, and fixed his eyes upon Lieutenant Wells. Then he turned to the colonel and handed him the blade. That officer examined it. Directing his gaze upon Lieutenant Wells, he asked:

“Has any one among you a small Spanish dirk, with a highly-polished and ornamented blade?”

“I had such a one,” replied Wells, “but I have missed it for several days.”

The colonel instantly turned toward the camp, commanding all to follow him. He halted before the tent of Lieutenant Wells, and said:

“You, Captain Walker, and you, Adjutant Hinton, enter this tent, and tell me what you find.”

The search lasted but a moment, during which time Wells had been assisting Miss Hayward, but not without evincing much agitation. Walker now appeared, holding in his hand a bowl of bloody water, and exhibiting the broken stiletto, covered with blood, which had been found in the overcoat pocket of Wells. A shirt, also, was found, which was stained with blood.

“What can you say to this damning proof of your guilt?” asked the colonel.

“I know nothing of it.”

“Arrest the murderer of Captain Harry Hayward!” commanded the colonel, in a loud voice.

The guards instantly seized him.

“Murderer! He a murderer—and of my brother! No! no! This is some dreadful dream. Oh, tell me my brother is not murdered; it will kill me. Oh, see! Pity a friendless girl who kneels to you and begs you to tell her that you have not deprived her of a dear brother. Speak to me, Edward. I did love you, and you would not harm him.”

Wells could not speak. He had never spoken to Miss Hayward of his love for her; but now, in the delirium of her grief, she had confessed her love for him. Oh, what a moment!

Walker advanced to raise Miss Hayward from her bended position before Wells.

“Paws off, ye darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he hurled Walker to the ground. “I alone am her protector now.”